


But, In Dreams

by Kedavranox



Series: But, In Dreams [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Secret Crush, Shower Sex, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedavranox/pseuds/Kedavranox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a Seer, with a particular affinity for speaking to the dead, but this comes at a price he’s slowly killing himself to pay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But, In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Author/Artist LJ Name: kedavranox  
> Prompter: curlee_cue  
> Prompt Number: 76  
> Title: But, In Dreams  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Blaise, Hermione/Terry  
> Summary: Harry is a Seer, with a particular affinity for speaking to the dead, but this comes at a price he’s slowly killing himself to pay.  
> Rating:NC-17  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): Drug Use, Addiction  
> Epilogue compliant?Not in the least  
> Word Count:~24K  
> Author's Notes: This fic would not be possible without my betas omi_ohmy and marianna_merlo. Special thanks to Q as well. I’m excited to see who my prompter is. I truly hope you like it.

_  
But, in dreams, I can hear your name._

She looks exactly as she did on the day she died. A small, auburn-haired girl with dimples in each cheek and freckles on her skin. She’s ten, but she’s tall for her age, and she lingers at the very edge of his dreams. When Harry finally makes contact with her, she whispers to him that her name is Amanda.

She thinks she’s lost.

Moments like this are the hardest for Harry; when the dead souls come to him and they’re confused, or angry, or in Amanda’s case, just too fucking young to understand. He does his best to focus on what Samuel, an Egyptian Seer and Harry’s trainer for the last few years, calls his _ba,_ his soul. It’s the part of himself he must project onto the Astral Plane, where the little girl, Amanda is waiting for him.

He shouldn’t be doing this tonight, unprepared. He hasn’t taken his potion, and Malfoy hasn’t been by to help him balance magic. But it isn’t always up to him when a soul decides to make contact. After weeks of trying to call her, Amanda has finally come to him, and he can’t risk losing her again, or she might _go on_ before he has a chance to ask her about her killer.

Separated from his body as he is, he can’t feel any pain right now, but he knows his abrupt projection is going to cost him when he awakes. He closes his eyes and pushes those thoughts from his mind, trying to centre himself and focus on the task at hand. He can vaguely sense where Amanda is, but she must come to him, and in the meanwhile, he has to close himself off to any other needy souls roaming the Plane --or worse malevolent souls looking for a host.

This is why he should have taken his potion; it renders him able to protect himself on the Astral Plane without sending his magic into overdrive. He’s been told time and time again that one bad trip on the Plane could be his last, but what they the non-Seers can’t seem to understand is that Harry doesn’t always have a choice. Sometimes the souls are determined to have a chat with him, and the more powerful entities, like Amanda, can summon him anytime he falls into sleep.

Amanda’s voice traces on the edge of his consciousness, and he calls out to her softly. To him, the Plane is an endless meadow, with sun dried wheatgrass swaying ceaselessly in a summer breeze, and the sky permanently lit by an endless sunset. But this is only his perception. Nobody _really_ knows what the Plane really looks like. Harry only knows it is the place beyond the veil, and that sometimes, the dead linger here when they have something more to say.

Only a few yards away, the grass parts to finally reveal his quarry, fully corporeal, but fading fast. Amanda looks at him shyly, her eyes wide and bright in her pale face. The image of her flickers in and out, like shadows in candlelight.

‘You’re Harry,’ she says softly.

Harry nods and holds out his hand. ‘Who told you my name?’

She watches him curiously before taking a few tentative steps forward.

Harry gently beckons to her. ‘That’s it, darling,’ he says. ‘Come closer.’ His voice doesn’t travel far; it fades almost as soon as he utters a sound, as if lost to the wind.

‘I think I’m lost.’

Harry’s mouth goes suddenly dry. ‘It’s okay, come here and tell me what happened.’

She stops abruptly, watching him with wide eyes. Her eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip quivers. ‘I can’t go home again, can I?’ she asks.

He doesn’t answer; because he knows that now she’s seen him, she knows she is dead. Samuel says it’s what happens when the dead see the living. 

‘Amanda, do you know what I want?’

She wipes the tears from her face. ‘Yes, I do. But--’ Her image flickers and fades, and Harry curses in frustration.

He’s hardly ever fully successful on first Contact, and now that she’s found him, she can find him again much faster, especially since she knows how. But it’s frustrating nonetheless.

He concentrates on his _ba_ , and his return to his body is so abrupt that he wakes instantly and immediately turns over to vomits thick ropes of thin, bitter bile onto the floor. The headache radiates from the back of his skull, pressing down hard so that it feels like someone is squeezing the bone down into his brain. He reaches blindly for his glasses and his wand, and spells all the lights off.

His magic coils around him in a protective cocoon, and he pushes on his glasses, blinking eyes warily. He’s in almost enough pain to black out, and that’s definitely not something he’s looking forward to again. Times like these, standard procedure dictates that he sends a Patronus to his Contact, but seeing as Draco Malfoy had been his Contact for the last three years Harry would very much like to avoid having o do so.

He stands as slowly as he can and shuffles to the doorway where he grips the frame for support, and his stomach heaves again. If he could just make it to the kitchen, he could take his potion, which would at least help him get his magic levels back under control and cease the roiling in his stomach. Then he could take one of his tablets filled with _Icarus_ to ease the pain, and then maybe another so he could just lose himself in the high and forget everything. Forget this fucking case that’s taken over his life for the past month. Forget Malfoy with his smug superiority and the irritating way he gets under Harry’s skin. Forget Ron and Hermione who don’t know half the shit he does with the Unspeakables, who are always after him to _lighten up_ and _move on_ and _join them_ all at the pub on Fridays for drinks. Them and the unholy band of Slytherins and Gryffindors that have somehow come together behind his back --just one great, big happy fucking family and --oh God.

He falls onto his knees in the corridor and he knows for certain that he will not make it to the kitchen. It isn’t a matter of getting his hands on his potion, anymore, his magic’s far too unbound for that now, he can feel it roiling just under his skin, looking for something to lash out at, or something to latch onto. It’s untamed and untethered, and his magic is Darker than most. It’s why Malfoy and Malfoy alone is his contact, and he should have just swallowed his pride and called Malfoy ages ago.

He closes his eyes and wills his magic to behave, to listen to him for once, and then he summons the happiest memory he can think of. When the stag erupts from the end of his wand, he gives it his distress message and sends it off to Malfoy, before he uses the last of his strength to lower the wards and then he welcomes the darkness.

He wakes in his private room at St Mungo’s, with cloth restraints on both of his wrists and ankles. He groans and tugs weakly on his arms when the door opens and Malfoy walks in, looking as impeccable as ever in a white shirt and crisp grey slacks. He pushes his long, white blond hair carelessly off his forehead and gives Harry a dark look before he waves his wand and the restraints vanish. Without a word of greeting, he lifts Harry’s chart from bed frame, scans it quickly and then he walks over to him and shines his wand into Harry’s eyes.

‘You almost had an aneurism,’ he says dispassionately. ‘Do you know what kind of stress your body was under?’

Harry doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to stare at the wall behind Malfoy’s head.

Malfoy hovers over him, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. ‘But then,’ he continues, ‘you can’t be expected to take responsibility for your actions, can you, Harry? Let alone take a simple potion designed so that this _would not happen again.’_

Harry opens his mouth and closes it again. Why on earth Malfoy insists on calling him Harry is beyond him. It invokes a sort of false intimacy between them that Harry deeply resents.

Malfoy grabs Harry’s chin and turns his head to the right, then left inspecting Harry’s ears with a frown. When he is finished, he leans over Harry, his face only inches away, scowl fixed firmly on his face. ‘Why the fuck, Harry? Why didn’t you take your potion?’

‘I forgot.’ It’s the safer answer. Better than telling Malfoy the truth at any rate. He did forget...that much was true. He forgot, because he was too high on the potion, _Icarus_ to remember to take the potion that keeps his brain from combusting and his magic under control when his _ba_ decides to take a walk on the astral Plane.

They lock eyes for a moment and a wisp of Malfoy’s’ thoughts pushes into Harry’s brain. _Liar,_ it says, in a voice that is distinctly Malfoy’s.

A fissure of shock runs down his spine. He’s _never_ been able to read Malfoy before. _‘I’m_ not lying,’ Harry says tersely.

Malfoy pulls away quickly and averts his eyes. ‘Don’t read me, Harry. I’ve asked you not to do that.’ He puts a shaky hand to his temple and then rubs his eyes quickly.

‘I wasn’t reading you,’ Harry says, annoyed. ‘Don’t blame me if your Occlumency is getting shoddy.’

Malfoy watches him, his pale grey eyes wide and unblinking. ‘My Occlumency is just fine; _you’re_ getting stronger.’

Harry tries to ignore the unease that Malfoy’s words spark in him. ‘Scared, Malfoy?’ he murmurs. ‘Have you got something to hide?’

Malfoy looks up at him, narrowing his eyes dangerously. ‘I’m not the one who’s hiding, Harry.’

‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

Malfoy gives him a long look, and opens his mouth to say something, but then all the fight seems to drain out of him. His shoulders sag. ‘Could we just...not do this today?’

Harry presses his lips together and Malfoy gives him a pleading look. Harry nods curtly and unclenches his fists.

'Did you make contact?' Malfoy asks.

'Yes,' Harry says. He sits up, forgetting, for a moment, the antagonism he feels towards Malfoy, in favour of discussing the case.

This case is the hardest they've come across yet: a young Half-Blood girl, murdered on a camping trip. They found her body a few kilometres from her campsite, unmarked, with the residue of Dark magic saturating her skin. Their only suspect, Marcus Flint, is pleading innocent, and while the object of their investigation is simply to find the truth, the case is uncomfortably close to them both. The media’s turned into a circus, pitting the old Purebloods against the Progressivist Party in the Wizengamot. The media attention is stirring up bad blood, tuning the two factions against each other in a way that reminds Harry of the war. It sickens him, and he knows it weighs heavily on Malfoy as well; his connections in the Ministry are again under investigation. His position as an Unspeakable isn’t public knowledge, unlike Harry’s. Harry couldn’t even pick his livelihood without the whole Wizarding world watching.

Whenever they talk about Flint, however, Malfoy doesn’t say much, he only presses his lips into a thin line and looks away. Harry doesn't know if this is Slytherin loyalty or if Malfoy actually thinks Flint is as innocent as he claims. Harry himself is not sure.

Flint’s hunting cabin is mere metres away from where Amanda was found, and the Priori Incantatem on his wand revealed several Dark curses, but nothing that could be definitively linked to Amanda’s murder. Even so, the public is calling for blood. And Flint –a Slytherin and a Pureblood- is the epitome of what they are afraid of.

Malfoy waves his hand in front of Harry’s eyes, and sits on the edge of the bed next to him. 'Hey,' he says, softly. 'Where did you go?'

'Nowhere,' Harry says. 'I was just thinking about the case.'

'Was she able to tell you anything?'

'No,’ Harry says. He rests the back of his head against the headboard and closes his eyes briefly. ‘The connection faded before I could get her to talk.'

'You know that means she'll try to contact you again. We'll have to move to The Facility for a few days.'

Harry sighs deeply. The Facility: the small cabin in Surrey the Ministry used as a sanctuary during the war. Harry uses it whenever he's on a case with the Unspeakables, and Malfoy stays with him, feeding him Potions and keeping his magic in check. They don’t know _why_ Harry loses control of his magic when he walks on the astral Plane. Malfoy thinks it’s a side effect of being a Horcrux, a fact very few people are aware of. It was Malfoy who came up with the potion that keeps Harry’s magic in check.

Hermione and Ron don't know. They only know that he works for the Unspeakables from time to time, and that he frequently has problems controlling his magic. They don’t even know that he works with Malfoy, or that Malfoy is an Unspeakable as well. It's all part of the job --secrets.

Malfoy rests his hand gently on Harry's arm. 'You should go home and rest,' he says. ‘You’re fine now. I'll have you discharged.'

Harry swallows, trying to focus on Malfoy’s words. It irritates him, the way Malfoy speaks sometimes --as if he _understands_.bHarry doubts it. Malfoy didn’t suffer very much after the war. Or, at least, he didn’t suffer as much as Harry would have liked, and he bounced back alarmingly well.

He has a flat in Kensington. An apparently healthy sex life, from the rumours Harry’s heard. He has friends. _Harry's_ friends. He does things...like attend galas and balls, the ones Harry is always invited to, but never attends. He's always on the front of the _Prophet_. He takes Hermione on hikes, because _they're friends_. Malfoy and Ron attend Cannons matches together because _they’re friends_. It's sickening. Harry can't understand it. Surely these are _his_ friends. Surely, they should be doing things with Harry instead? But Harry’s said ' _no_ ' too many times, and the requests for his company have dwindled.

He doesn't care. It isn't as though he's good company anyway. He spends most of the time riddled with guilt when he catches a stray thought or two from his friends’ minds.

When he looks around the room again, Malfoy is gone.

This happens more often than he’d like. It's as though he doesn't have the mental energy to deal with his thoughts, his Sight _and_ the presence of another person all at the same time. 

A Healer comes to check his vitals one last time, and then he informs Harry that he’s free to go.

Harry rubs his eyes, still feeling the residual ache from last night’s projection deep in his bones, and grabs his clothes from the chair beside his bed, pulling them on with unsteady, jerky movements. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and Apparates to an alley a few blocks away from the tube station closest to his flat and walks down the street to the corner shop run by his neighbours, and elderly Indian couple.

The man, Satraj, greets him on the way in, and Harry grunts in return. He walks down the short, narrow aisle, searching for a few things that’ll keep him alive in The Facility for the next few days. The pantry is usually stocked, but only with the plainest, Ministry-grade sort of gruel, and Harry needs his creature comforts if he’s expected to converse with the dead for a few days straight. Not to mention, if he’ll be stuck with Malfoy.

When he takes an unexpected walk on the astral plane it’s like scrubbing his already weak mental shields with a brilo pad. He hates when his Sight leaves him like this. He’s raw and open and uncomfortable in his own skin.

No one really knows the ramifications or the extent of his newfound gift. The magical specialists in the Unspeakable department all agree it’s a side-effect from having died and come back to life. This perhaps explains why the dead have a particular affinity for him.

But, Harry’s not really concerned with the hows or whys. He’s more concerned with getting through the days. He doesn’t always tell Malfoy about the pain. He doesn’t see the point. There’s not much either of them could do about it.

That’s what the drugs are for.

When his gift first manifested itself, he thought it would be a tactical advantage he could use as an Auror. Knowing the thoughts and feelings of others before they even knew for themselves appealed to him because he’d spent most of his life being lied to.

The reality is different.

When people lose their private thoughts to him, he feels like a voyeur --a thief. There are times when all he feels is the resentment. The hurt. Those are the kinds of emotions that twist into his consciousness like a knife. 

Sometimes, he can feel the way Hermione is genuinely afraid of him. It feels like cold air on the back of his neck. The wisps of thought’s that come to him are broken and confused. She’s afraid of the sequestered life he’s chosen; afraid that he likes to use Darker magic than he should; afraid of what he could turn into. These thoughts come to him at odd moments, when he visits her flat for lunch, or when he actually shows up to one her parties. They are her secrets that slowly become his.

His head is full of secrets. Like Ron’s well-hidden resentment of his fame, or the way he still can’t forgive himself for leaving them in the forest. Ron likes to think about that too often. He dwells on it when he’s had too much to drink. Sometimes Ron thoughts are so loud that Harry has to step away from him if only for some quiet. It’s like a dark cloud that hangs around his shoulders, and Harry cannot tell him to stop. He has to put everything away in his mind, and live with the knowledge.

Sometimes he catches good thoughts. Good feelings, sometimes even love. But even love sometimes feels like a burden, and it only serves to increase his isolation.

The mobile in his pocket rings, and he pulls it out and eyes the screen warily. It’s Hermione, which means she probably wants him to do something tonight --being Friday. Her crowd usually goes to The Wiz on Fridays. Harry's not certain he wants to answer, but he know that if he doesn't, she'll only call back. He sighs and hits the green button.

‘’Lo?’

‘Harry, hi, I’m glad I caught you! Thank you for deciding to answer this time.'

He rolls his eyes.

'Don't roll your eyes,' she says.

'What the fuck, Hermione? Are you watching me or something?'

He picks up a box of Weetabix and drops it into his manky old basket. 'No,' she says, with a smile in her voice. 'I just know you that well, Harry Potter.’

He smiles reluctantly and switches his phone to the other hand, deciding a few Jaffa cakes wouldn't be too bad.

'Terry and I have some news we'd like to share with everyone, and I'd love it if you were there.'

Harry eyes a jar of marmalade, but he sets it down again when he notices the price. The fuck? Was there gold in the jar or something?

'What, are you up the duff?' he asks absently, grabbing a loaf of bread and dropping it into his basket.

'Hermione?'

He reaches into the refrigerated section and grabs a stick of butter

'Really, Harry...'

He drops it into his basket and then stands stock still in the middle of the shop. ‘Are you preggers? Really?’

Hermione sighs. ‘Yes, Harry, I am,’ she says exasperatedly. ‘Do you really have to be so silly about it?'

'I thought you two were going to wait until after the wedding!'

'Yes, well. Sometimes these things happen.'

He laughs in disbelief. Terry and Hermione had been dating on and off for years before they even settled in together in their little flat in London. They've been planning their marriage for two years and while Hermione's largely unwilling to admit who keeps sticking their heels in the mud, but Harry's pretty much sure it's her. She's never seemed the 'settling down' type to him, ever since she started travelling the globe in search of hopeless causes to rally behind. She met up with Terry again at a protest for Goblin rights and their rocky relationship has been a source of amusement for Harry ever since.

Now it seems like they might finally be pulling their act together. Harry tries to ignore the small tinge of resentment in his chest.

'How are you feeling?’ he asks.

'All right, mostly,' she says.

Harry continues down the aisle, tossing junk into his basket without much discretion.

'Now that the shock has worn off, I'm actually really...' She pauses.

'Happy?'

Hermione sighs happily. 'Over the moon is more like it.'

Harry swallows past the growing tightness in his throat. He should be happy for her, for his best mate, but for some reason, the most he can feel is dread.

‘I'm happy for you, Hermione,’ he lies.

'So, you'll come?'

He sighs deeply, eyeing a pack of Benson & Hedges in the glass behind the till. 'I don't know, Hermione...'

'Harry, please, it's really important to us,’ Hermione says softly. ‘To me.'

'Who else will be there?'

'Ginny and Theo, Pansy and Seamus, Ron, Blaise,’ she hesitates for a few seconds. ‘Draco.'

Harry closes his eyes at the name. ' _Draco_ , is it?'

'Harry, don't start.'

'You know, I'm not quite sure I'll have the time, Hermione.'

'Harry--'

'I'll talk to you later.' He ends the call and switches the phone off, stuffing it in his back pocket.

_Draco._

Wasn't it enough that he had to work with the prick? Now he was worming himself in with Harry’s friends, his _family_ \-- the only family he’s ever had. Didn't Malfoy have his own fucking friends to hang around?

He unpacks his shopping on the counter for Satraj to cash, and pays for it absently. He's doesn't have his reusable bags so he has to stomach the horrible flimsy blue-and-white striped plastic bags that Sat peels off from a huge tack hanging behind the counter. He grabs his stuff and walks the short distance to his flat, dropping his bags at his feet and fumbling with the key. 

The sharp crack of Apparition beside him makes him jump, and his wand is out and poised before he realises its Ron, with a wide grin on his face and his palms spread.

'Put your wand away, you maniac,' he says. 'Do you want the Muggles to see?'

Harry rolls his eyes and stows his wand back in his sleeve. 'Hermione sent you, did she?'

Ron bends over and picks up a few of Harry’s bags, just as Harry gets the key to finally work. 'You know she did.'

Harry opens the heavy oak door and it scrapes the floor with a load groan, and Harry lifts the remaining bags and enters the apartment, Ron following closely behind into the kitchen. They both rest their bags on the worktop and Harry wipes his palms on his jeans.

'Well, I'm not going to change my mind.'

He steps over to the fridge and opens the door, pulling out two beers and handing one to Ron, who takes it with a raised brow.

'It's barely noon, mate.'

'If you don't want it, don't drink it,’ Harry says.

Ron rolls his eyes and screws off the cap. 'You know,' he says, pointing the tip of his beer bottle towards Harry. 'I'm kind of with you on this one.'

Harry takes a swing of his beer. Gods yes. He's been aching for a drink all morning. 'And why is that?'

Ron makes a face. 'Blaise.'

Harry grins. ' _Blaise_?’ he says, dragging the out name and leering at Ron

Ron’s ears turn pink 'Shut up, Harry'

Harry laughs, enjoying his friend’s discomfiture. Ron and Blaise had been working together for over a year in Gringotts before Ron even noticed all the burning looks Blaise had been sending his way. It took Hermione of all people to point it out to him. Ron claims it makes him feel uncomfortable, but Harry knows that the faint red tinge on his cheeks every time Blaise is about is due to more than just ‘embarrassment.’ Blaise, it seems, realises it, too. Over the last few months he changed his tact, switching burning looks for blatant, aggressive flirting.

'Seriously Harry,’ Ron says. ‘He is the absolute limit these days.'

'Is he now?' Harry asks, eyes dancing.

'Shut up. You’re one to talk.'

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upwards. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

Ron takes a swing of his beer, and gives him a wary look. 'Nothing,' he says. 'Just forget I said it, yeah?'

Harry clenches his jaw, but the look on Ron’s face makes him concede. He's seen that look on too many faces. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, even Arthur and Molly sometimes. Like they're afraid of him, but in a pitiful sort of way.

He takes a swig of his bear and leans back against the worktop. Ron relaxes and he looks around the kitchen.

'Bit of a mess isn't it?' he says, gesturing to the unwashed pans in the sink, and the empty takeout boxes on the counter.

Harry shrugs. 'I'll deal with it later.'

'I thought you had plans,' Ron says, his mouth twitching.

'Sod off. I'm just...not in the mood, Ron, all right?'

'I get it, mate. Really, I do. But come on. This is Hermione. She's _up the duff.’_

'I know,’ Harry says. He can’t help but smile at the incredulous look on Ron’s face. It wasn’t too long ago he and Hermione had their own little pregnancy scare during one of their ‘on’ periods of their tumultuous relationship. It was enough to startle them both into some serious relationship evaluation. Hermione decided the last thing she wanted was to settle down, and Ron decided the last thing _he_ wanted was to 'Give up the joys of free sexual exploration.’

Harry figures Ron just didn't want to stop fucking around with whoever he decided was the most compatible with his ‘magical energies’ for that week.

‘How are you doing with the news?’ Harry asks.

‘I’m happy for her,’ Ron says. ‘She's our best mate, Harry.'

'I know.'

'She's fucking preggers.’

Harry laughs. 'Shut up, Ron.'

'So you'll be there.'

Harry takes another swing of his beer. ‘When did you become so good at the guilt thing, Ron?'

Ron grins broadly. 'Harry, mate, have you met my mother?'

_The Wiz_ , as usual, is packed with young witches and wizards looking to get completely bladdered and annoy the shit out of him. He’s already had 3 or 4 shots of Ogdens and a couple _Icarus_ tablets to soothe the tension in his body. It works well, almost too well, and Harry is loose and limber when he kisses Hermione on the cheek and says ‘Hullo’ to everyone. It doesn’t fool anyone. They’re still slightly awkward with him. Nervous. And _this_ is why he hates doing what he’s doing. What’s the point of trying really, when all they do is give him awkward smiles and hide behind their mugs of ale.

Pansy and Seamus married last year, but Harry didn't make it to the wedding. He might have been high at the time, he doesn't remember. Then there's Ginny and Theo Nott, how that happened, he really doesn't know. The few times he's caught Theo’s thoughts were enough to reassure him that Ginny was in good hands. Not that he has any right to be concerned. Their break-up was not at all amicable, though the five years since have done enough to smooth out most of the ruffled feathers.

He shakes Blaise’s hand and gives Ron a pat on the back. The tips of Ron’s ears are scarlet, and Blaise looks almost too smug for his own good.

Across the room, Malfoy is sitting with Pansy Parkinson, sipping on a bottle of ale, and tucking his stupid white-blond hair behind his ears. Harry takes a moment to watch him, wondering exactly how Malfoy insinuated himself in their little circle, and what his game is. Malfoy looks up at him and Harry looks away quickly, counting to thirty before he dares to look back again, only to find that Malfoy hasn’t lowered his gaze. 

When Terry finally gets there, flustered and late from work, they all make a toast to new life. Harry downs his Firewhisky and spends the rest of the night trying to avoid everyone. Especially Malfoy, who flusters Harry more than he would like to admit.

Harry looks down resolutely at the wooden bar top, trying to drown out the sound of his friends laughing and chatting --connecting with each other. He spent most of the afternoon concentrating on weaving a protective web of charms to block his Sight. It’s Dark Magic, highly un-recommended and only a temporary measure that will wear off in maybe an hour or two. 

He orders another drink; there’s something about the combination of _Icarus_ , and Firewhiskey that makes the lights behind the bar shine brighter and lifts just a little of the weight off of Harry’s shoulders. He’s almost happy when someone fills the seat next to his.

Hermione. 

‘Are you okay?’ she asks, softly, putting her hand on his arm.

He smiles at her, a real smile. At least he thinks it’s real. It _feels_ real, anyway.

‘I’m fine, ‘Mione. Congratulations again.’

She watches him closely, and Harry doesn’t look away. The lights shine through her bushy hair turning the ends of it from brown to an almost auburn-red, and it’s bloody fascinating.

‘You’re on something, aren’t you?’ It’s not much of a question; it’s apparently Hermione’s lot in life to simply _know_ everything.

‘Maybe,’ he says. He swivels around on his stool to fully face her, pressing his back against the bar. She looks worried, and this annoys him. Because with the worry comes pity, and Harry’s had to stomach enough pity for a lifetime.

‘Harry, I really wish you wouldn’t use those things,’ she says.

‘I know.’

‘They do a lot of insidious damage,’ she says.

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, if you’re taking fifty tablets a day, maybe.’

She arches her eyebrow. ‘And how many are you on now, Harry?’

Harry licks his lips and looks away, his gaze lands on Malfoy, and he quickly averts it. ‘Leave it alone, Hermione,’ he says.

‘Harry―’

‘Dammit, Hermione, not tonight, okay? Isn’t enough that I’m here? What else do you want?’

‘I want you to actually be here, Harry!’ she says, her voice wavering slightly. ‘I want my best friend back.’

Harry closes his eyes briefly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’ll cut down, I promise.’

She hops off the stool and stands closer to him. She rests her hand softly on his hair and then pushes a few unruly strands up off his forehead. Her palm feels cool against his skin. She plants a soft kiss on his scar and he closes his eyes briefly. When she pulls away, her eyes are bright, and Harry himself feels a small lump growing in his throat.

‘Try Harry, please,’ she says softly. ‘For me.’

Harry nods, unable to say anything in response to this, and then he watches her walk away from him --back to her husband, and her friends.

Malfoy catches up with him as he stumbles out of the pub.

‘Are you going to try to Apparate like that?’ he says.

Harry scowls. ‘Why are you following me?’

Malfoy pulls the collar of his jacket up around his neck. ‘We’re supposed to move to The Facility tonight, in case you’ve forgotten.’

Harry sways slightly, and then stuffs his hands into his pockets. ‘I’ve not forgotten.’

Malfoy peers at him, looking into his eyes. He makes a soft sound under his breath and rolls his eyes. ‘What the fuck are you on, Harry?’

‘What the fuck business is it of yours?’

Malfoy grabs his forearm and yanks him close. Harry stumbles forward, and their chests press together. This close, his breath puffs against Malfoy’s face and he can see the flecks of amber in Malfoy’s grey eyes. Malfoy scent is almost _spicy_ , much like the Ministry’s potions storage room, with just the barest hint of cedar. It’s not a scent Harry ever thought he would find appealing, but he finds himself only just holding back from leaning into the space beneath Malfoy’s chin, just to breathe him in. 

‘Hold on,’ Malfoy says.

He Apparates them both to Harry’s flat, and Harry pulls himself out of Malfoy’s grasp and shakes out his arm. He spins around and shoves Malfoy hard in the chest. ‘What the fuck, Malfoy?’

Malfoy pushes him right back and Harry loses his balance, falling on his arse, tipping backward. The back of his head hits the ground hard. He groans, and stares up at the ceiling, unable to move; the wind has been knocked out of him completely.

Malfoy drops down next to him. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--’

‘Fuck off,’ Harry says softly, pushing himself up and shifting into a sitting position with his legs crossed. He rubs the back of his head gingerly and groans.

Malfoy sits back on his haunches, watching Harry carefully. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

Malfoy opens his mouth then closes it again. He licks his lips. ‘Are you packed?’

Harry rubs his eyes beneath his glasses, the potions and the charms have mostly worn off, and the alcohol is starting to pull him down. It’s always bad when that happens. Alcohol alone leaves him maudlin and easy to crack. And with Malfoy around...it’s definitely a bad idea.

‘Yes, I’m packed,’ he says, pushing himself up. Malfoy does the same. When Harry stumbles slightly and Malfoy reaches out to help him, Harry flinches away almost on instinct. A spark of almost hurt flashes through Malfoy eyes, and it strikes straight at Harry’s stomach. He doesn’t understand why Malfoy looks at him this way, why Malfoy tries to be anything but his antagonist. Wasn’t that their role in life? Wasn’t it written somewhere that they’re supposed to be at each other’s throats? The look in Malfoy’s’ eyes ignites an twisted anger in Harry’s stomach, he almost wants to reach out and shove Malfoy to the ground just to see what he’ll do. 

Malfoy bites his lips and gestures nervously. ‘Maybe you should get your things so we can leave,’ he says. ‘I’ve already sent mine over.’

‘Ever prepared, aren’t you, Malfoy?’ Harry says bitterly.

Oh, he needs to the alcohol out of his system. Then he can take the purple tablet he keeps in the sock drawer, just to settle his nerves.

Malfoy doesn’t say anything, he only reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vial of dark green potion. ‘You need to sober up so you can take this.’

Harry closes his eyes briefly. Of course he’d forgotten about the stupid potion -- _again._ Harry reaches out for it, but Malfoy holds it just out of arm's reach.

‘Harry, what you’re doing.’ He pauses, as if searching for words. ‘It isn’t healthy. Mixing potions --especially the kind you get on Knockturn alley―’

Harry gives him a grim smile. ‘I’ll be fine, Malfoy.’

Malfoy’s eyes harden, and Harry’s grateful for it. _There’s_ the fire. There’s the Malfoy that makes sense.

‘You stupid git,’ he says. ‘You’re not fine...I’m sure if I ran a check on you now, you’d have at least a dozen different potions in your system.’

Harry raises his eyebrow. ‘And if I don’t take this one, I won’t be able to help you solve the case, now would I?’

Malfoy blanches. ‘You think I— you think this is about―,’ Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose briefly and then holds out the vial. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Take it.’

Harry takes the flask, and then he hesitates, looking at Malfoy expectantly. ‘Will you cast the charm, already?’

Malfoy clenches his jaw and murmurs, ‘ _Sobrietus_.’

Harry staggers a bit. It’s like all the padding around his brain suddenly disappears and everything fills with cold, harsh light. His Sight perks up, alert and curious. He drinks the potion and hands Malfoy the empty vial without looking him in the eye.

‘I’ll get my things,’ he says.

He shuffles down the hall to his room and then closes the door behind him, pressing his back against the door, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. He drops his head back against the wood with a _thunk_ and grips at the door with his fingertips.

He just needs a minute to think _._ To be without this constant need to be _up_ or _down_ , or dead or free of this stupid thing, this Sight, this _knowledge_ he doesn’t want. His eyes fly open and he darts across the room to his chest of drawers, fumbling with the hook with shaking fingers. He yanks it forward and the whole drawer jumps straight out and lands heavily his fingertips. He doesn’t even register pain, he only rifles through the socks, the loose change, spare bits of parchment, a Sneakoscope, an old Snitch, until he comes upon the small glass bottle filled with purple tablets. They call it _Somnus_ , and it’s about to save his life.

He uncaps the bottle and pops one into his mouth. It ruptures on his tongue, releasing the a burst of potion, and it’s better than bliss. There isn’t a word for how good this is. He almost wants to cry from the burst of clarity, of peace and surrender it brings.

If he thought he could to make it through the week without this, he was sorely mistaken. He leans back against the bed and puts his head in his hands. He _hates_ that he needs them. He fought his whole life to beat the monster...and then only to crumble in the face of an inanimate object. A thing so small, so insignificant, he could step on it with his boot and destroy it.

A soft knock on the door startles him and he almost drops the bottle onto the floor.

‘Harry, don’t pass out in there,’ Malfoy says from the other side of the door.

Harry laughs bitterly. _Pass out_. That’s the least of his worries right now.

‘I’m fine,’ he says, and then he shuts his eyes. He doesn’t sound fine, and Malfoy’s no idiot.

He stuffs another tablet into his mouth and summons his shrunken bag, enlarging it and stuffing the bottle of _Somnus_ into the pocket, and then searches through the pocket for his other stash, the _Icarus_ and he’s ashamed. Ashamed of the calm that washes over him when he wraps his fingers around the glass bottle. He shrinks his bags again and wipes his faces harshly. He lets out a deep breath and then opens the door, finding Malfoy dithering in the hallway. Malfoy looks up, surprised, and Harry walks past him, into the living room again.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Let’s go.’

The place is dark and empty when they get there, and Malfoy switches on all the lights with a wave of his wand. It’s a small, one-room cabin that reeks of pine and old potions. The only real furniture is the king sized bed in the living-room that Harry usually takes, and the pull out couch on the opposite wall that Malfoy uses. There’s not much else, but a kitchenette surrounded by large bay windows that look out onto the wild garden in the back, and the bathroom just off the entryway. It’s heavily warded, with so many protective charms that Harry can feel the hum of magic vibrating in his teeth. His eyes are starting to droop, so he drops his bags onto the floor and enlarges them, and starts rifling through for a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. Malfoy’s busying himself in the kitchen with his usual ritual of arranging things to the kind of precision he likes.

‘Where’s your stuff?’ Malfoy asks absently. It’s become a ritual of theirs anytime they come here. Malfoy knows that Harry always bring a few groceries and he likes to put everything away just so, as if they were sharing house and not just working together for a few nights. Harry Levitates his grocery bags across the room, dropping them on the worktop and leaving it for Malfoy to have at it. There’s a small walk-in pantry off the side of the kitchen where Malfoy sets up his potions supply. Trance potions if Harry needs to take an unexpected walk on the plane. Healing potions, Herbology texts, potions ingredients for emergencies...nothing Harry has any interest in. 

Harry grabs his clothes and toothbrush and wanders blearily into the bathroom. He quickly changes his clothes, banishing them to the washroom with an absent wave of his palm and then takes a piss. He half heartedly brushes his teeth while gazing at his reflection in the mirror with a look of deepest loathing. He drops the toothbrush into the sink and sighs, bending over and gripping the porcelain with his fingers. When was the first time he took hit of _Icarus_? It seems so long ago now, he can barely remember. He only started them to stop the dreams. He just wanted _sleep,_ real sleep. Now it’s turned into this _thing_ that he has to conquer or bow down to.

He turns on the tap and bends over to splash some water on his face. His skin is uncomfortably hot, so he pulls off his T-shirt and smoothes some water on his chest and neck. He walks out into the hallway with his shirt balled in his fist and tosses it on his bed, heading for the kitchenette.

He grabs the water jug and sets it down on the worktop. Malfoy’s sitting on the sofa, bent over some sort of journal. Probably _Potions Today_ , or something equally dull. Harry looks at him for a moment, watching the way Malfoy likes to twist a strand of his pale blond hair in his fingertips as he chews on the end of his quill. He Summons a glass and drops it loudly on the worktop, and Malfoy looks up, startled. Harry pours himself a glass and walks over to his bed, sitting at the very edge, bringing his glass to his lips.

Malfoy’s stare is heavy and unnerving.

‘Are you ready?’ Harry asks, not looking forward to what they’re about to do at all.

The quill drops from Malfoy’s mouth and he seems to shake himself before answering. ‘Of course,’ he says lightly. ‘Are you?’

Harry drinks the last bit of his water and then banishes his glass to the kitchen. ‘Yes, let’s get this over with.’

He hates this part --the part when Malfoy has to touch him and Harry has to let him.

Malfoy drops the journal into the empty space beside him and licks his lips, slowly pushing himself to the edge of the sofa so that they’re facing each other, knees touching, and his eyes drop to Harry’s chest.

‘Incidentally,’ Malfoy murmurs softly. ‘Exactly how many spells can you do without a wand?’

Harry shrugs. ‘Enough.’

Malfoy looks up and rolls his eyes. ‘Of course, you can,’ he says. ‘Glasses off.’

Harry pulls off his glasses and rests it on the bed next to him. Malfoy’s face becomes, not exactly a blur, but without enough facial distinction so that Harry isn’t constantly reminded who he’s working with.

Malfoy places his hands -palms facing up- on Harry’s knees. ‘Hands.’

Harry hesitates, and then he places his hands into Malfoy’s, stiffening slightly when Malfoy squeezes their palms together.

‘Now relax, and let me in.’

Harry closes his eyes and opens his mind to Malfoy’s gentle nudge. It doesn’t take much for Malfoy to slip inside; Harry’s never been one for Occlumency, which is what makes his Sight so problematic in the first place. Malfoy’s mind, however, is shut almost as tight as Gringotts. The slip earlier today was one of the first times Harry had ever plucked as much as a single thought from him.

_Relax,_ Malfoy says, in a voice that echoes in his mind. _I’m not looking for anything. I’m just here to ground you._

But Harry can’t help but tense; there are so many dark things inside of him. So many secrets. Too many things he’s ashamed of. Malfoy’s hands tighten around his

 _Harry,_ calm _down._

Harry works to calm himself, taking slow, deep breaths, trying not to flinch as he feels Malfoy working on the nodes of his magic, calming them in a way, no one else had been able to before.

They only happened upon their magical compatibility during their training with the Unspeakables. After Harry developed his Sight, he’d been pulled off the Auror squad and approached by the Unspeakable department for a consultant position. He didn’t know Malfoy had been working with the department all along, as a Healer and Dark Magic consultant. When he had a particularly bad Glimpse in training that brought him to his knees, Malfoy’s touch had been the only thing that soothed him and his magic. Samuel told him it’s because Malfoy’s magic is in sync with his; that he and Malfoy were compatible in ways no one could explain --it simply is. Samuel said Harry was lucky to find Malfoy; that sometimes a Seer could go years, sometimes a lifetime, without finding someone who could ground him and his magic. So, Malfoy became his partner, his contact, much to Harry’s discontent. The first year together was the worst.

The Ministry threatened to kick Harry out of the department if he didn’t learn to cooperate, and he was willing leave, if only to spite them, but Malfoy came to him and offered to put aside his differences, if Harry could do the same. The only thing that kept Harry from walking was the fact that when they did work together, they were fantastic. They made more solid convictions than the entire Auror squad combined, and Malfoy didn’t want that to stop. He was atoning for his sins, he said, and if Harry could help him with that then he could put aside everything else. Harry responded by offering Malfoy a drink, and then they proceeded to get completely bladdered together, on Ministry property, no less. Harry doesn’t remember anything else from that night, only that since then, Malfoy calls him Harry, and Harry still can’t return the favour.

When the Malfoy gently pulls out from his mind, Harry sighs pleasurably. When he opens his eyes, Malfoy’s face is very close, and his eyes are on Harry’s lips. Harry clears his throat, and Malfoy pulls away.

‘Your magic is settled for now, if a bit...rowdy. There isn’t any damage from your idiocy last night, so you’re safe to project.’

Harry nods and stands, stretching his muscles and scratching his belly. When he looks down Malfoy is looking up at him, mouth slightly parted and eyes wide. ‘What?’ Harry asks, vaguely annoyed, although he doesn’t know why. Malfoy looks away quickly. ‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Get to bed.’ He scotches back in his chair to let Harry pass, and Harry eyes him warily as he passes him by.

He summons his glasses and tosses them into his bag, then he drops down onto the bed and closes his eyes.

‘I’ll just spell the lights off then, shall I?’ Malfoy says wryly.

Harry doesn’t have a chance to answer before he slips straight into sleep.

He projects onto the plane without any pain, and his _ba_ is delighted. He floats about through the dried grass in the meadow happily before he settles down and begins to look for the little girl again. She knows how to find him, but he hasn’t a clue how to spot her. This is the frustrating thing about the Astral plane. The dead have more power. He settles down to wait, sitting in the middle of the meadow, and instead focuses on avoiding the other souls. He’s not in a mood to talk to any other spirits tonight. It doesn’t take very long before he feels Amanda’s energy on the edge of his consciousness.

‘ _Harry.’_

‘Amanda!’ he stands ups quickly and looks around and spots her a few feet away, peering at him through the blades of grass.

She walks to him without any of the fear she possessed the night before and smiles up at him when she’s close enough to touch.

‘Hullo, Harry,’ she says, shyly.

‘Hullo Amanda,’ Harry says, smiling. ‘Did someone send you to find me?’

She nods. ‘But, I’m not allowed to say who.’

‘That’s all right,’ Harry says. ‘What did they tell you?’

‘She’s my guide, but I can’t _go on_ until I show you something very important.’

‘And what is that?’

Amanda regards him solemnly. ‘How I died.’

Harry holds out his hand and Amanda takes it. He leads her through the wheat grass to a small clearing. ‘I like to come here sometimes to sit,’ he says. ‘Will you sit with me?’

She smiles and nods, sitting primly on the floor and fixing her dress, tucking it beneath her legs. Harry sits opposite her, cross-legged.

‘Will you tell me about your guide?’ he asks, genuinely curious. It wasn’t something he’d encountered before. Most of the souls that pass through here aren’t guided by anything other than their need to find him and tell him their story. Perhaps a guide was something only children had?

‘She found me, and showed me where to go,’ Amanda says earnestly. She picks at the hem of her dress. ‘I was really scared.’

‘You’re not anymore, are you?’ Harry says. ‘I can tell.’

She smiles. ‘No I’m not.’ She cocks her head and peers at Harry curiously. ‘She has your eyes.’

Harry’s mouth suddenly goes very dry, and the image of the meadow flickers. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on staying in one place.

When he opens them again, Amanda is looking at him with wide eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, bottom lips quivering. ‘I didn’t mean to!’

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to be calm, because it isn’t possible...what he’s thinking. It can’t be. She would have _gone on_ ages ago. He’s never seen her before, and he looked. He looked for them both for so long.

‘Do you know her name?’ Harry asks. ‘Your guide?’

Amanda shakes her head frantically. ‘I’m not supposed to tell!’

Harry grits his teeth in frustration. ‘Says who?’

‘She did! It’s against the rules.’

‘What rules?’ Harry’s anger is rising, a slow boil almost ready to overflow. The wind pick up around them, ruffling Amanda’s dress and causing the wheat grass to sway ominously.

‘Please, Harry,’ she says, tears flowing freely down her face. ‘Please, don’t be angry.’

He wants to tell her it’s okay, he isn’t angry. But that would be a lie, and he cannot lie here. Her image flickers, and then Harry looks down at himself.

He’s drenched in sweat, and in bed, and Malfoy’s sitting on the opposite side, looking at him with wide eyes.

‘Harry?’

Harry sits up, resting his back against the headboard. The headache is minor this time, and thanks to his potion, his magic is tame and happy to comply. He closes his eyes briefly, breathing heavily from the disorientation of his sudden expulsion from the plane. He rubs his face with a shaky hand, appalled to find it tear-streaked.

‘Fuck.’

Malfoy rests a soft hand on his arm. ‘Harry, what happened?’

Harry reaches for his glasses and pulls them on. Outside, the light is changing. ‘What time is it?’ he asks. His voice is raw and weak, as though he’s been screaming for hours.

‘It’s almost seven in the morning; now tell me what the fuck happened.’

Harry scratches under her chin. ‘What did you see?’

‘You were thrashing about. I could feel your magic getting unstable, but when I touched you, you calmed down, at least a little.’

‘The girl, Amanda, she has a guide.’

Malfoy’s eyebrows shoot upwards. ‘That’s never happened before, has it?’

Harry shakes his head. ‘No. I’ll have to ask Samuel, but I’ve never heard of the dead having guides before.’ He takes a deep breath, and it hitches in his chest.

‘Something else happened,’ Malfoy says. He doesn’t even try to phrase it as a question.

Harry looks away, because his eyes are starting to burn again. He hates that it’s _Malfoy,_ of all people, whowitnesses his lowest moments. Was his luck really that shitty?

Malfoy watches him expectantly, but Harry doesn’t answer. He wants sleep. R _eal_ sleep, without any kind of projection, and he wants time alone to think about this. Think about the fact that his mother is some kind of guide to this little girl, which means at some point she was on the Astral plane and she didn’t try to make contact with him. Why? She must have known he was looking for her. He looked for everyone for weeks when his Sight first manifested; it was all he could think of. No one came to see him. No one answered him when he called.

‘Harry,’ Malfoy says softly.

Harry looks up at him, and he hates himself for wanting to confide in the one person he resents deeply enough to hate. A tears snakes its way down his cheek, and he swipes at it angrily.

‘I don’t want to talk right now, Malfoy. I want to sleep.’

Malfoy regards him for a moment, looking very much like he has a lot to say, but he just gives Harry a short nod. ‘I’ll get you a sleeping draught,’ he says. ‘A really strong one.’

When he wakes, it’s almost mid-day and it’s uncomfortably hot. He throws off his covers and lays very still in his bed, not wanting to be awake just yet. He pulls on his glasses and finds a note on his bag.

Harry rolls his eyes and crumples the note in his fist. He reaches in his bag and grabs the small glass bottle of _Icarus_ and pops two into his mouth. He folds his arms behind his head and stares up at the ceiling. He was an idiot last night. He put himself before the case. He had the perfect chance to ask Amanda for a chance to search her memories for details on her death, instead he let things get personal and he lost control. He feels like punching something. Someone. Malfoy, perhaps.

There are watermarks in the ceiling that look like animals. Or people. He could stare at them for hours.

The high. It’s like floating on the cusp of the best orgasm of his life. It’s like catching the snitch. His body is tight and ready to spring. It’s the perfect time for a wank.

He pushes his trousers down over his already hard cock, spits in his palm, and starts stroking his cock with his eyes closed. Any kind of sexual stimulation is tenfold on _Icarus,_ so he knows it won’t take much for him to come. He pushes back the foreskin and swirls his thumb around the slick head, hissing slightly when he brushes the sensitive underside and swipes his thumb across the slit. Fuck. It’s almost too good. He doesn’t even have to think about fucking, although he could if he wanted to. The last time he fucked anyone was a few months ago, when he pulled at the Wiz. It was a young witch --completely besotted with his name. She wanted to touch his scar. She had excellent tits and she didn’t look a thing like Ginny. Which was good. She rode him while he held her hips. She was loud. He loved squeezing her tits, but when he came inside her, it was hollow. She left the following morning without much talk, and he was fine with that. Most of the other men and women he slept with were similar stories. Star struck fans of the great Harry Potter. No one he had any particular interest in. Fucking became tedious. His right hand is arguably much better than most of the fucks he’s had in his life, and he’s had plenty.

He grips his cock and starts pumping his hips thinking of a faceless body. A hard body. Definitely male. He’s almost ready to come; he arches his hips and thinks about slick skin and sinuous shoulders, lean muscles, pale skin and soft, white blond hair. His eyes fly open when he comes and moans softly, enjoying the last few bursts of his orgasm, spreading hot come all over his shaft. He shot so hard, his chest and neck are covered with come. As he spirals back down, he spares a moment to consider the image his brain had chosen for his enjoyment, but then he shrugs it off. It wasn’t necessarily Malfoy, and even if it was, it wouldn’t be the first time he tossed off to the git. It probably wouldn’t be the last. It isn’t like he plans on doing anything about it. Probably.

 _Fuck._ The last thing he needs is to be thinking about fucking Malfoy when they’re stuck in a cabin for God knows how long.

He uses his wand to clean up, and elects to have a shower to finish the job. He lets the water run hot, enjoying the way it caresses his skin, and the way the sunlight streams through the small window, turning each drop of water into tiny moving rainbows. Everything is so beautiful that sometimes it makes him want to cry.

But that’s probably the drugs talking.

He doesn’t want to be there when Malfoy returns, so he Apparates into Muggle London. It’s warm out, so he elects to wear a white T-shirt and jeans, and he wonders around Kensington High Street aimlessly with the wide-eyed tourists. Other than his occasional consulting for the Unspeakables, Harry doesn’t do much. He doesn’t have much need for money. His main ambition lately has been to get high. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, making sure he has at least a few tenners, and then heads into a cafe for some lunch. When he’s seated, he pops another tablet of Icarus before asking for the soup of the day.

Under the table, he absently fingers the bottle as he waits for his food. The cafe is mostly filled with tourists. A young family and two sets of couples. Harry rubs his eyes beneath his glasses and stays with his face in his palms for a few minutes longer. The drugs. The fucking drugs. Is he like an addict now? Is this a thing he’s become? It’s pathetic. Addicts are people who ruin lives and friendships and hurt their families and end up alone. An addict is someone who would murder his best friend for a hit or steal from his grandmother or Splinch themselves because they were high. He’s not that person. He just needs help to get through the days. That’s all.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out and checks the ID.

Malfoy.

He presses the green button and grunts a greeting.

‘Where are you?’

‘What the fuck does it matter?’

The waitress appears at his table with his soup, and he leans back for her to place the steaming bowl in front of him. He smiles and nods at her, and she sends him a wide smile in return, her eyes lingering on his face for a few more seconds than necessarily as she walks away from his table.

Harry looks away from her quickly and focuses his eyes downwards.

‘It doesn’t matter, I suppose,’ Malfoy says.

‘Why are you calling?’

‘I went back to the house, you weren’t there.’

‘I left for lunch. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?’

Malfoy sighs. ‘Yes, of course you are.’

‘Right then.’ Harry hangs up the phone and tucks into his soup. He’s only a few spoons in when his phone rings again. He glances at the caller ID. This time it’s Hermione. He drops his spoon with a clatter, flips the phone over, and with an annoyed grunt, he pulls off the plastic back cover. He yanks out the battery and slams the dismantled phone onto the table top. When he looks up, the mother of the young family is looking at him warily, while her son picks at his food.

Harry gives her an apologetic look and then he stares resolutely down at his bowl. He absently dunks a chunk of bread into his soup and munches on it. His thoughts settle back on Amanda, and his mother. He hopes he’ll make contact with her again tonight. Apologise for his stupidity and listen to her story. He wants whoever killed her to have his soul sucked out of his body. That’s the sentence that awaits them if Harry gets the information he needs.

He spends a few more hours wandering about London --taking the tube aimlessly, people watching and ignoring the urge to put his mobile back together and give Hermione a ring. He’s just not really quite sure he’s interested in _them_ right now. People --the group of friends that he’s no longer a part of. Hermione likes to tell him that it’s because he never tries, but he did. He tried for a long time before the secrets became too much and he couldn’t face them anymore. He wishes they would all learn Occlumency, and then maybe Harry could stomach being around them without the drugs, or the alcohol or the charms. Maybe if he didn’t know that Blaise only looks at Ron the way he does, because he loves the way the Ron’s freckles spatter across his nose and the slight dimple in Ron’s chin. Maybe if he didn’t know that Ginny still loves him even though she does her solid best to act otherwise, or that Pansy’s afraid she can’t have children but she won’t tell Seamus because she’s afraid he’ll leave. He doesn’t want to know these things anymore.

When it starts to get dark, he finds a deserted alleyway and Disapparates back to the cabin.

Malfoy is sitting on the worktop in the kitchen, cross-legged with a book in his lap. His hair hangs over his eyes as he reads, and he licks his thumb to turn the thin, onionskin pages.

Harry walks in and pulls off his boots, kicking them beneath his bed. ‘What the fuck are you reading?’

Malfoy looks up and waves his hand absently. ‘Looking up a potion.’ He unfolds his legs, dangling them over the kitchen counter. ‘Where have you been all day?’ he asks lightly.

‘Oh. Doing this and that.’ Harry pulls off his t-shirt and unbuckles his jeans.

‘Surely, even you could have the decency not to undress in front of company.’

Harry shrugs. ‘You’re not ‘company’,’ he says, pushing his jeans down. ‘You’re Malfoy.’

He pulls on his sweats and t-shirt from the night before and drops gracelessly onto the bed, turning over on his back.

Malfoy clears his throat. ‘They’ve moved Flint’s trial date.’

Harry glances over as Malfoy jumps off the worktop and lands gracefully on his feet. Harry allows himself a brief second to envy and marvel at way Malfoy does everything so fucking perfectly, even, apparently, jumping from high surfaces. It’s stupid. Harry closes his eyes tightly. The _Icarus_ is starting to wear off, and a headache is beginning to bloom behind his eyes.

‘When is it?’ he asks, rubbing his eyes slowly.

‘Two weeks.’

Harry sighs. ‘Doesn’t give us much time.’

Malfoy nods. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘You think you can project tonight?’

Harry pushes himself upright, leaning his back up against the headboard. ‘I’ll have to.’

Malfoy sits next to him and hands him a vial of potion, and Harry knocks it back without comment, resting the empty vial on the side table next to the bed.

Malfoy angles his body towards him, and Harry gives him a wary look.

‘I want to try something tonight,’ Malfoy says. ‘If you’re willing.’

Harry lifts an eyebrow and Malfoy studies him carefully for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. It’s not something he’s seen Malfoy do quite often, and it only helps in making Harry incredibly nervous. ‘What?’ he asks when the silence stretches far too long.

‘I want to project with you.’

‘What? Why?’

‘To help you. If I can calm you down when I’m not even in there with you, think of what it could be like if we project together.’

‘I don’t know, Malfoy—’

Malfoy shifts even closer, close enough that Harry is uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating off of Malfoy’s skin and the fact that Malfoy smells of lavender, fresh potions and sandalwood. It’s unnerving. He knows that if he ever were to smell the combination again in the future, he will think of Malfoy, and of the heat of Malfoy’s skin.

‘It isn’t dangerous, Harry,’ Malfoy says quickly. ‘I mean -the potion is experimental- but I’ll be the one taking it, not you.’

Harry scoffs. ‘Which, of course, makes it completely okay. Sorry Malfoy, but if you died while we’re alone here together, I’ll end up in Azkaban for sure.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is me we’re talking about. I’m better at potions than...well --almost everyone.’

‘Glad to see you haven’t lost your pride.’

Much to Harry’s surprise, Malfoy grins, and Harry has to ignore the faint flutters in his stomach. Then he shoots it down with a forceful shove into the back of his mind.

Harry takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes with the tips of his fingers. ‘Exactly _why_ do you want to do this?’ he asks. ‘Why would you risk yourself like that, just to help me?’

Malfoy’s eyes flicker away, and he pushes his hair up off his forehead with a nervous gesture. When he looks at Harry again, his expression is filled with something Harry can’t name, but it’s the same searing _look_ Malfoy likes to toss at him from time to time.

It’s the kind of look that keeps Harry perpetually on edge. Not for the first time, he wonders what it would be like if Malfoy weren’t so bloody good at Occlumency.

‘Harry,’ he says softly. ‘Do you remember when I came to you that night in the Ministry? When I had to beg you to stop being a twat and push your complete idiocy aside so we could both just do our jobs?’

Harry scowls. ‘Of course I remember.’

Malfoy carefully raises a pale brow and gives him that _look_ again. ‘Really, Harry? You remember everything?’

He doesn’t remember anything at all; they’d worked through an entire bottle of Firewhiskey on their own –well, Harry had done most of the drinking. Not to mention he was probably high on _Icarus_ \--but he’s not about to admit that to Malfoy. He raises his chin defiantly and says, ‘Everything.’

Malfoy’s eyes widen slightly, and then the corner of his mouth lifts into a small smile. ‘Well then’ he says. ‘I suppose you remember this.’

He leans forward and presses his lips softly against Harry’s, swiping the corner of Harry’s mouth with his tongue. Harry makes a soft noise of surprise, and Malfoy pulls away and watches him expectantly. Harry lifts a finger to his lips and stares at Malfoy, dumfounded.

Malfoy’s mouth twitches into a small smile. ‘I guess you forgot that then,’ he says.

‘Bullshit.’

This is all Harry can think to say. He tugs Malfoy roughly forward, kissing him again hard on the mouth. After the initial surprise, Malfoy responds to him, dropping his jaw and cupping Harry’s face in his palm. Harry wastes no time exploring Malfoy’s mouth with his tongue; his mouth is hot and wet, and he tastes fucking amazing. Harry’s cock begins to slowly fill, and, soon enough, he’s uncomfortably hard. He shifts his hips and holds Malfoy’s face in his palms. Malfoy grips Harry’s forearms and moans softly into his mouth. The noise alone is enough to make Harry want to bury his cock between Malfoy’s arse cheeks for the rest of the night.

Harry pulls Malfoy forward, and he falls onto Harry’s chest. Harry reaches down, stroking his palm of over the smooth, lithe muscles in Malfoy’s back. He pushes Malfoy’s trousers down and grips Malfoy’s bare, tight arse. He kneads two pale globes in his palms, swallowing all the small moans Malfoy keeps making into his mouth. He pulls away briefly, gasping for air, and Malfoy looks down at him, his grey eyes wide and searching.

‘Stop it with the Occlumency,’ Harry says breathlessly. He nips on Malfoy’s lower lip and digs his fingernails into Malfoy’s back. ‘Show me.’

Malfoy pushes himself up, bracing himself on his palms, placing his things on either side of Harry’s body. ‘I thought you remembered,’ he says teasingly.

‘Shut the fuck up and show me, Malfoy.’

He feels it the minute Malfoy relaxes his mental shields. Harry pushes forward with his Sight, looking for the memory --and ah... there it is. Him and Malfoy in his old office in the Ministry gripping onto each other, an empty whiskey bottle turned over beside them, Harry’s shirt bunched up in Malfoy’s hands, Malfoy trailing kisses down his neck and chest. He watches, as though viewing a Pensieve memory, as Malfoy licks his nipple and he, Harry, grips Malfoy’s hair and calls him Draco. _Draco._

Harry retreats from Malfoy’s mind, closing his eyes and attempting to settle his Sight. When he opens them again, Malfoy is looking down at him, panting slightly.

‘What, the fuck, Malfoy?’Harry says, voice faint. His heart hammers in his chest. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

Malfoy rolls off Harry’s body and lies beside him on the bed. He shrugs his shoulders, looking up at the ceiling and –Harry suspects- avoiding Harry’s eyes. ‘I thought maybe it was a one off. Maybe you remembered and you didn’t want to talk about it.’

Harry turns to face him, propping himself up on his arms. Malfoy’s skin is flushed, his lips bruised, his hair a disaster, and Harry wants to touch as much of his body as he can –everything, all at at once, and then again and again.

Abruptly Harry stands and pulls Malfoy up off the bed, dragging him down the hallway to the bathroom. He pulls Malfoy inside, closing the door behind them and pushing Malfoy up against the door. Malfoy’s head slams back against the wood and Harry stifles his angry protest with his mouth. He loves the way Malfoy literally melts beneath him, the way their bodies fit together. Malfoy’s slightly taller than him, and Harry has to lift up a bit to level out the kiss. He lifts Malfoy’s arms upwards and pins Malfoy’s hands against the door, trapping them in his own. He lowers his mouth to Malfoy’s neck and licks the soft skin at his pulse point. Malfoy bucks beneath him as Harry trails kisses up along the side of Malfoy’s neck.

_‘Harry--’_

Harry pushes his hips against Malfoy’s and groans when the length of Malfoy’s cock presses against his hip. Malfoy’s just as hard as he is. The knowledge leaves Harry reeling, and he shifts his stance to press his cock against Malfoy’s, rutting against him wantonly. Malfoy groans and shudders, rocking his hips and lifting his chin, exposing his pale neck and throat. It’s surreal, having Malfoy right there in front of him, wanting to be taken, by Harry of all people. When the fuck did this happen?

He pulls his hips away and Malfoy makes a soft, plaintive sound. Harry wraps his fingers around Malfoy’s’ throat and studies his face. Even Malfoy’s barely-there stubble is white blond, his eyebrows, everything is deathly pale. Malfoy pants hot breaths against Harry’s skin, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide, and pupils blown. Malfoy stares back at him with piercing grey eyes and Harry falters slightly, shifting his stance and loosening his hold on Malfoy’s throat.

‘Did we fuck?’

‘No,’ Malfoy whispers. ‘You wanted to.’

‘I’m sure I did.’

Harry lowers his hand from Malfoy’s throat and stokes the smooth skin of his neck, trailing his palm down the length of Malfoy’s torso and hooking his fingers into Malfoy’s trousers.

‘Do you want to?’ Harry asks.

‘Yes,’ Malfoy says, softly. ‘Gods yes.’

Harry steps back, tugs off his shirt and steps out of his tracksuit bottoms. He nods to Malfoy. ‘Get naked.’

Malfoy drops his head back against the door and give him a heavy-lidded, hazy look. ‘Make me,’ he says.

Harry’s cock twitches. With a wave of his hand, he vanishes Malfoy’s clothes, and Malfoy gasps and staggers slightly.

Harry reaches into the shower and turns on the tap, stepping in carefully.

He ducks his head under the water and lets the spray cool his scalp and face. When he turns to look, Malfoy’s still leaning against the door frame, lips slightly parted, giving Harry _that look_ \--the same look he’s seen on his face so many times before, but Harry didn’t know what it was. He does now...it’s _this._ The heat of this moment and what they’re about to do. It’s fire and want, and yearning wrapped up into one. Fucking hell, it’s need. It’s _need_ written on Malfoy's, face. A need for him, Harry, and that, well-- if it Harry were to say it isn’t the hottest, most mind boggling thing he’s ever seen-- he’d be an absolute liar.

Harry steps back from under the spray and leans back against the wall, stroking his cock a few times with a small smile. ‘Well, Malfoy? You coming in?’

Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows a few times.

In two quick strides, he steps into the shower and presses Harry up against the wall, his hands roaming over Harry’s wet skin. He tweaks Harry’s nipples with his fingers. Harry gasps and arches his back; who knew his nipples were so sensitive? Christ. He felt that in his toes.

‘You’re such a fucking tease, Harry,’ Malfoy murmurs.

Harry smiles slowly and shoves his fingers into Malfoy’s damp hair. ‘Potter,’ he murmurs. ‘Call me Potter.

He crushes Malfoy’s mouth with his own, and Malfoy grips his biceps, digging his fingers into the hard muscle there. It’s just on the right side of painful, and Harry sucks Malfoy’s tongue into his mouth. He loves Malfoy’s lips; they’re heavy and thick and would probably look fucking amazing wrapped around his cock. Harry pulls away and Malfoy grabs onto one of his wrists, looking down at him with lust darkened eyes, his hard prick poking into Harry’s stomach. Harry reaches for the swollen head and rubs his thumb across Malfoy’s slit. Malfoy’s eyes slide shut, and Harry thinks he could get addicted to this. Having this much power over Malfoy’s body...it’s amazing.

Harry turns Malfoy around harshly, switching places and pushing them both under the spray, stumbling slightly and pressing Malfoy’s back into the tiles. He loves the way the water darkens Malfoy’s hair into dark gold, and the way the water trickles in thin streams over his lithe muscles and flat chest. Malfoy leans forward to kiss him, but Harry pulls just out of reach, grinning wickedly. Malfoy leans forward again and Harry does it again, pinning Malfoy’s wrists up against the tiles. He shakes the water out from his hair, spraying Malfoy’s face with beads of water. Malfoy grunts, blinking water out of his eyes. ‘Git.’ But a smile is playing at Malfoy’s mouth and Harry leans forward slowly, releasing Malfoy’s hands and leaning in to suck on his neck.

‘Fuck. Harry.’

‘Potter,’ Harry murmurs against his skin. ‘Wrap your legs around me. I want to fuck you.’

Malfoy drops his head back against the wall. ‘I know you’re strong, Potter, but I don’t think even you—’

Harry grabs Malfoy’s hips and pushes him up against the wall, his back sliding slickly against the tiles.

‘Merlin,’ Malfoy says softly. He wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, and an arm around his neck. Harry bears the brunt of Malfoy’s weight with his thighs, curving his spine slightly. His body is going to make him pay for this in the morning, but right now, all he wants to do is fuck Malfoy until he can’t think anymore. He grabs his cock and presses the head against Malfoy’s hole, rubbing it against the tight ring of muscle.

Malfoy scratches his nails against Harry’s scalp. ‘Fucking tease. Just put it in.’

Harry pushes his hips forward and, after some resistance, he pushes his cock into the tightest hole he’s ever been in. ‘Sweet fucking Christ.’

He braces himself on the wall with his palms and pumps his hips slowly. Malfoy’s back rubs slickly against the tiles behind him, and he loosens his hold around Harry’s neck a bit to look down at Harry’s cock sliding into his hole, biting his lower lip between his teeth. Harry leans in and until his mouth touches Malfoy’s. It isn’t as much a kiss as it is their lips pressed together, breathing hotly into each other’s mouths. Malfoy digs his nails into Harry’s back and Harry responds by thrusting in hard, pushing Malfoy up higher. Malfoy groans and grips Harry’s shoulders hard.

‘Stop --stop.’

Harry stops, although it’s torture and he just wants to keep going. Malfoy is hot and tight, and his thighs are already quivering from how close he is. ‘What?’

‘I want you to bend me over and fuck me from behind,’ Malfoy says in a low voice that goes straight to Harry’s cock, already twitching inside Malfoy’s arse. ‘I want to feel your cock inside me every time I sit down for the next week.’

Harry stares at him open mouthed, and then leans forward and covers that dark-red, dirty mouth with his. He pulls out slowly and Malfoy lowers his legs, his rock-hard cock bobs with every move he makes, and suddenly all Harry wants it to taste Malfoy’s come. He drops to his knees and sucks Malfoy’s cock, all of it, in one quick move. Malfoy gasps in surprise and then he moans, with a low guttural sound that echoes in the bathroom. The water drops patter down on Harry’s head, and making it hard to breathe through his nose, but he doesn’t care. He’s watching Draco Malfoy come undone, and he loves it. He hollows his checks and slides down Malfoy’s shaft, lifting his other hand and massaging Malfoy’s balls while he teases the head of Malfoy’s cock, tonguing the slit with the very tips of his tongue. Malfoy tugs on Harry’s hair and tears spring to his eyes. He presses his palms flat on Malfoy’s hips and takes as much of Malfoy’s cock as he can into his mouth, relaxing his throat and letting the head of Malfoy’s cock slide as far down as it can go.

‘Fuck, fuck. Potter. _Fuck_ \--wait. Wait.’

Harry lifts his head. ‘What?’

Malfoy chest rises and falls dramatically with each breath he takes. ‘I want to come with you ramming my arse, you teasing shit.’

Harry grins and wraps his fingers tightly around the base of Malfoy’s cock, almost laughing out loud when Malfoy drops the back of his head back against the tiles, making a desperate sort of noise.

‘Oh, trust me Malfoy. You will.’

Malfoy makes another sound, in between a sob and a whimper, and Harry grins. He teases Malfoy for the next few, perfect minutes by lightly sucking on the swollen head of his cock, tonguing the slit when he feels like it, loving the way Malfoy leaks hot precome continuously into his mouth. Malfoy’s legs start to quiver and he looks down at Harry, desperation written plainly on his face. Just when he’s sure Malfoy can’t take much more, he stands and pulls Malfoy into a deep kiss, letting him taste his himself of Harry’s tongue. He turns Malfoy around roughly, pressing him hard, up against the tiles. He spreads Malfoy’s arse cheeks and Malfoy lifts himself up on his toes, pointing his arse tantalisingly in Harry’s direction. Malfoy’s arse is perfect, round and tight with just enough flesh to hold onto while Harry fucks him. He strokes his cock lightly and then pushes into Malfoy’s hot, tight hole once again.

‘Oh, fuck, Malfoy,’ he groans, still pushing in. ‘You have a virgin arse.’

Malfoy pushes his arse back until Harry is buried, balls deep. He pinches Malfoy’s arse cheeks, loving the two dimples just above the curves of his buttock; loving the look of the bunched up flesh; loving the way Malfoy whimpers beneath him. He starts to move, snapping his hips fast and hard, giving Malfoy the fuck of his life, by the sounds he’s making.

‘Fuck, Harry.’

Harry pulls Malfoy’ up so that his chest is pressed against Malfoy’s back. He slides his palm up the length of Draco’s chest and loosely clasps Malfoy’s throat. ‘Come for me, Malfoy.’

‘Draco, Draco. Call me Draco.’

Harry grips Malfoy’s hair pulling his head back, licking the side of Malfoy’s throat and sucking the soft supple skin of Malfoy’s earlobe into his mouth. ‘Draco,’ he murmurs.

The name feels so hot and foreign on his tongue, and suddenly this feels like a lot more than just fucking. Harry’s heart begins to race even more because this is unchartered territory. He has no control over this. He’s not sure he wants to control it.

Malfoy’s shudders and comes all over himself, and Harry’s palm. His arse clenches around Harry’s cock, and Harry bites Malfoy’s shoulder hard as he pumps his hips like a madman. Malfoy bends over, almost in half, and Harry grips his hips, fucking Malfoy for all he’s worth until he starts to feel his orgasm bearing down on him, and he rises up to his release. His balls draw up tight and he comes hard into Malfoy’s arse with a low grunt. He thrusts weakly a few more times and Malfoy straightens up, resting his palms against the wall. Harry reaches forward and puts his hand over Malfoy’s, threading their fingers together over the tiles. Malfoy clenches his arse again and Harry groans and drops his forehead between Malfoy’s shoulder blades, and his cock pulses another spurt of come into Malfoy’s hole. Fucking Merlin. He hasn’t had a fuck like this since...

Well ever.

Harry gently pulls out of Malfoy and squeezes the last few beads of come from his cock, and Malfoy lowers himself to the shower floor on presses his back against the tile. Harry sits next to him, sated and satisfied.

‘Shit, Malfoy,’ Harry says. ‘That was...’

‘Fucking perfect.’

The water pools around their legs and only then Harry notices he’s thrown his leg across Malfoy’s, and somehow it feels more intimate than the sex. He goes to pull it away but Malfoy grips his thigh. ‘No, don’t.’

Harry stops moving, and Malfoy reaches for his hand and holds it, linking their fingers together.

‘Think we’ll ever be able to stand up again?’ Malfoy murmurs softly.

Harry’s too distracted by the touch of Malfoy’s fingers to even answer.

Malfoy bumps his shoulder softly, and Harry looks up and gently untangles their fingers. He gets up slowly and reaches his hand out for Malfoy to take.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘We’ll run out of hot water soon.’

‘You know, Harry,’ Malfoy says, pulling up his trousers. ‘I do actually know what I’m doing’

Harry looks up from where he’s sitting on the bed already dressed, hair still dripping from the shower. ‘I know that,’ he says, absently. His mind is still reeling from what just happened, and he’s dying for a hit of _Somnus_ to calm his nerves.

‘So, what’s the problem? Let me come with you.’

‘Malfoy—’

‘It’s Draco.’

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘Every time I travel on the plane, my head aches, I don’t feel right for hours, and apparently I’m _meant_ to be a Seer. I have no idea how it’ll be for you. You might not feel anything or you might just go ahead and die on me.’

Malfoy sits next to him on the bed and gives him a patronising look. ‘Oh, Harry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’ He tweaks Harry’s nose and Harry bats his hand away.

‘Fuck you, Malfoy,’ he says. ‘Half the wizarding world already thinks I’m psychotic. I don’t want to be responsible for the death of everyone’s new golden boy.’

Malfoy scoffs and then he studies Harry’s face seriously. ‘You really believe that, don’t you?’

Harry shrugs, knowing that it makes him look petulant, but he doesn’t care. _Oh, fuck it all,_ he thinks bitterly. Since when does he care what Malfoy thinks about using? He leans over to the side of his bed and pulls out the glass bottle of _Somnus_ and opens the cap, dropping two tablets into his palm, glancing up at Malfoy defiantly as he swallows them down.

Malfoy grabs the bottle from his hand. ‘You keep taking these,’ he says. ‘Soon enough they’ll be right.’

‘Hand them over, Malfoy.’

Malfoy holds the bottle out of reach. ‘Harry, do you know any of the side effects from long term use of this shit?’

Harry’s stomach tightens with a wave of sudden, painful anxiety, and he reaches for the bottle again. ‘Just give it to me, Malfoy. Seriously. I’m not fucking around.’

Malfoy’s eyes widen momentarily and then he wordlessly hands Harry the bottle. Harry relaxes minutely when his fingers close around it, and he tosses it back into his bag and zips it closed.

He closes his eyes briefly. ‘I know how this looks.’

‘It looks like you can’t function without them.’

‘I know, but I can. I just...’

‘When was the last day you went completely without them, Harry?’

Harry opens his mouth, and then he closes it again. ‘It’s not that I want to use,’ he says softly. ‘I need to.’ 

‘Do you want to stop?’

Harry rests his head on the headboard. ‘It’s not that simple, Malfoy.’

Malfoy puts his hand over Harry’s. ‘It’s Draco.’

Harry looks down at their hands. ‘Draco,’ he says softly. ‘You wouldn’t get it.’

‘I wouldn’t?’

Harry pulls his hand away and runs his fingers through his hair. ‘No, you wouldn’t. You got off easy. Everyone loves you. You have friends. _My_ friends.’

He looks up briefly, mildly daunted by the look on Malfoy’s face. He knows he should stop. Knows it, but the drugs have loosened his tongue, and he feels like dumping everything on Malfoy and burying someone else with his problems for once, instead of keeping them all to himself. Why not give Malfoy something to think about other than his perfect life?

‘They love you and they hate me, and everyone thinks I’m just one second away from utter collapse. Did you know Hermione thinks I should be in therapy? She only keeps me around to keep an eye on me. And Ron? Ron doesn’t even show up anymore unless Hermione sends him. You’ve...replaced me.’ He picks at a loose thread in his trousers and doesn’t look up, trying to steadfastly ignore the heat in his cheeks.

‘Harry, that’s a load of bollocks, and you know it.’ Malfoy says. ‘You think I have it easy? You think my life is perfect?’

‘Isn’t it? Everything’s worked out for you.’

‘ _Fuck you_ , you selfish little shit. You think I don’t want to drown myself in potions and drugs like you, you fucking coward? I have to try ten times as hard to get people to even look past my name, or the stupid shit I did during the war.’

Harry swallows down the bit of shame rising up in his chest, and looks down into his lap. Of course he knows all this, but—

‘Do you know how hard I had to try to even _make_ friends? I didn’t have any, Harry. For years I had no one to talk to. Pansy was too busy fucking her husband to even notice I was drowning. I had nothing. I had to start everything over, while everyone made sure to tell me what they thought of me anytime I walked through the Ministry.’

Malfoy reaches across and lifts Harry’s chin, forcing Harry to look him in the eye. ‘Do you even know how Hermione started talking to me? I was crying, like a fucking little queer -- _crying_ in Flourish and Blotts. She actually had the decency to ask me if I was okay, so don’t you fault her for being my friend, because she’s three times the person you are.’

Draco’s face is flushed and he’s breathing heavily, and Harry really wants to reach out to him and apologise, but he doesn’t, he only watches him with a defiant jut of his jaw. ‘It doesn’t equate does it? You don’t have other people in your head all the time—’

‘That wouldn’t happen if you took the fucking time to learn about what you are. So you didn’t ask for this. So fucking what? Learn to deal with it. Have you ever even picked up a book? Looked for someone else who could help you?’

Malfoy sighs and rubs his eyes. ‘I want to go under with you tonight because I read it could make it easier for you. I know you lie to me about how much pain you’re in when you go under. I know that. You lie to me all the time. And for some stupid fucking reason, I still want to help you. We’re magically compatible. Do you know what that means for a Seer? Do you know how rare that it? I can help you, you twat. Just let me’

Harry doesn’t look up for a minute, because he can’t seem to bring himself to meet Malfoy’s eyes. In all his determination to push everyone away, he never once noticed that Malfoy had been holding out his hand, all this time, just waiting for Harry to take it. He’s been a complete fool.

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, and forces himself to meet Malfoy’s gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’ he says softly.

Malfoy sighs. ‘Harry, I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you to see that you’re not thinking clearly. It’s the fucking drugs. You have to stop.’

‘I know.’

Malfoy sits next to Harry again, his back against the headboard, crossing his long legs at the ankles. They spend a few minutes in comfortable silence until Harry reaches for Malfoy’s hand and turns it over in his. ‘You’ve got nice fingers,’ he says absently.

He looks up at Malfoy’s face, surprised to find him blushing. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ he says faintly.

Harry raises his eyebrows. ‘Everywhere?’ he whispers. ‘Wouldn’t mind being inside you again,’ he says conversationally. ‘But I’d like to try it the other way around, too.’

Malfoy licks his lips slowly. ‘How about we do our jobs first?’

Harry smiles. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘You can come along.’

‘What do you see?’ Harry asks softly. The wind rustles his hair pleasantly and he smiles for no reason at all.

Malfoy is wide-eyed and in awe, and it’s pretty much one the best things Harry’s ever witnessed. ‘I—it’s a meadow.’

Harry looks at him sharply. ‘Really? That’s what you see?’

Malfoy looks at him, a worried crease on his brow. ‘Yes, why? Is that wrong?’

Harry laughs softly. ‘It’s not wrong...it’s just surprising.’

Malfoy takes his hand and links their fingers together Harry has to swallow a few times to try to quell the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. He’d forgotten what that felt like. He’d forgotten what anything _real_ felt like.

‘Is that what you see?’ Malfoy whispers. Harry wants to tell him it’s okay to speak at normal levels here, but he’s enjoying the sound of Malfoy’s soft, hesitant voice entirely too much to put a stop to it.

‘Yes. A meadow. Technically, you should be seeing something else entirely. Maybe it has something to do with our magic. I don’t know.’

Malfoy squeezes his fingers and Harry catches his eye; they’re bright and smug, and Harry can’t help but grin. ‘I like that,’ Malfoy says.

Harry tugs him close and kisses Malfoy hard, opening his mouth and muffling Malfoy’s brief grunt of surprise.

‘Draco,’ he says softly. Malfoy rests his palm at the base of Harry’s spine. Harry pulls away slightly, smiling against Malfoy’s lips ‘Want to hear something that’ll blow your mind?’

‘What?’

‘I’m snogging your soul right now, your _ba._ Your essence.’

Malfoy sighs and then leans into Harry, kissing him softly again. ‘Feels like it,’ he whispers.

Harry’s stomach flutter and he pulls Malfoy in for another kiss, threading his fingers through Malfoy’s soft, thick hair.

‘Harry,’ Malfoy murmurs.

‘Mmm?’

‘ _Harry—’_

Harry pulls away and Malfoy’s eyes are trained on a spot just behind them. ‘Is that her?’ he asks softly.

Harry turns around, and Amanda is there, watching him with a childish grin on her small face. She giggles. ‘Hi, Harry.’

Harry’s face heats, and he steps away from Malfoy who rolls his eyes.

‘Really, Harry,’ he says, stepping forward. He reaches out his hand to Amanda, who doesn’t take it. ‘Hello, Amanda, I’m Draco.’

‘I can’t touch you,’ she says, eyes Draco’s hand warily. ‘But, hullo.’

‘Oh,’ Draco says, dropping his hand. ‘I didn’t read anything like that.’ He stuffs his hand into his pockets, looking strangely dejected. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you.’

Amanda smiles shyly at him and then she turns her attention to Harry. ‘I’m sorry I made you angry, Harry.’

Harry shakes his head. ‘No sweetheart, that wasn’t you. I’m sorry that happened.’

She eyes him for a moment, twirling her fingers nervously in her dress. ‘Will you like to see my story now? My guide says I have to _go on_ soon.’

Harry nods, and there’s a sudden lump in his throat. Malfoy presses his palm against Harry’s back, and he’s surprised at the overwhelming desire to lean back into his touch. He gives Draco a grateful look and then kneels in front of Amanda.

‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ he says. ‘You can show me now.’

She takes his hand and the sequence of images batter Harry’s mind too fast to make any sort of sense. This was something that made him violently sick when his gift first manifested, and it was Samuel who taught him to slow it all down, to dampen the emotions like, fear, panic terror, and infuse calm so that he could understand what he was Seeing. When he does this, it’s like being dropped into a Pensieve, but not exactly the same. In the vision, he _is_ Amanda walking skittishly through the woods, looking around with wide eyes in all directions. She’s lost and hungry. If only she had a wand, she could maybe cast some red sparks the way her dad showed her once. She knew it was stupid to wander off, but she thought she’d seen a real live Red-Cap, and she just wanted to see him up close. Stupid!

She keeps walking, her feet sinking into the sodden grass and mud, ruining the shoes she only just got for her birthday. Her mother’s going to kill her when she gets back. She rests her back against a tree and looks up at the sky. In a few hours, it’s going to be dark. Her heart begins to thud and she starts to cry softly. Harry aches for her, knowing that Amanda will never be found. She lifts her head suddenly when she spots it --a bright, shimmering jewel suspended in mid air. She stares at it, marvelling, and then she tiptoes towards it and reaches to touch it with sheer child-like fearlessness. There’s a flash of green light, and then Harry is pushed out of Amanda’s mind with a sharp shove.

She gazes at him solemnly, with big brown eyes ‘Did you see?’

Harry nods. ‘What happened when you touched the jewel?’

‘I died,’ Amanda says solemnly. ‘The jewel was cursed.’

Harry glances back at Malfoy, who’s watching them both with his brow furrowed and his arms folded across his chest. ‘What did you see?’ Harry asks, turning back to Amanda.

‘Loads of green light,’ she says. ‘My guide says it was the Killing curse. She knows because that’s the way she died, too.’

Harry ignores the brief stab of pain in his chest at that revelation, and then he licks his lips slowly. It was some kind of trap, and Amanda walked right into it. But who was it meant for?

‘Will you help him?’Amanda says, interrupting his thoughts. ‘The one they thinks’ murdered me?’

‘I’ll try my best, sweetheart,’ Harry murmurs. ‘Thank you for showing me.’

She looks up at Malfoy with a curious glance. ‘You like Harry a lot, don’t you?’

Malfoy’s cheeks turn red and he splutters. Harry smiles, and pulls Amanda in for a brief hug. ‘Will you tell your Guide something for me?’ he asks.

She nods solemnly. ‘I know who she is now.’

‘Tell her, I’m sorry I got so angry before,’ he says. ‘I was just...surprised. I’m not angry with her. Not anymore.’

Amanda rings her hands nervously. ‘I shouldn’t say, but she told me the first time you were here, you were calling for her. But, really Harry, she couldn’t answer! It’s against the rules.’

Harry swallows the lump in his throat and stuffs his hands into his front pockets. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘And, it’s okay. She’s always with me anyway. I forgot that, for a while.’

Amanda beams at him, and the colour in her cheek seems to fill her face with life once more. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘She said that, too. She’s always with you. I reckon it’s the same with me and my Mum. I’ll always be with her, even if we can’t be together anymore.’

Harry smiles and hugs her again, then he stands and steps back next to Malfoy, who gently takes his hand. ‘Goodbye, Amanda,’ Harry says softly.

‘Goodbye, Harry,’ Amanda says, stepping back into the blades of grass. ‘Thank you.’

When opens his eyes, his headache is mild compared to what he’s used to. He grabs his glasses from the side table and turns to Malfoy, who’s still under with his eyes closed. His first time on the plane, this happened to Harry, too. It took him a while to focus on his _ba_ and bring himself back. Harry props himself up on one arm and watches Malfoy sleep. His eyelashes are long and his skin is so pale that Harry’s almost afraid to touch it again. Already, he can see the faint marks from earlier along Malfoy’s arms and the darker bruises on his neck. Harry’s certain if he lifted Malfoy’s shirt, he’ll find fingerprint bruises on Malfoy’s hips.

He almost can’t believe he fucked a Malfoy in the shower of a Ministry facility. And that Malfoy— _Draco_ actually wanted it --actually said his name loud enough to echo against the walls. He sifts through his memories, looking for all the times Malfoy gave him _that look, or_ the way he always calls Harry by his first name. At first, Harry thought this was simply Malfoy’s way of getting under his skin, but now he knows it’s because Malfoy understands the separation between Harry, and Potter, just as Harry is beginning to understand the difference between Malfoy and Draco.

When Draco delves into Harry’s mind, he is always comforted; he always burrows deep into the soothing touch of Draco’s magic against his, even though he’s never once admitted it, not even to himself.

Harry reaches out tentatively and smoothes Draco’s hair off of his face, marvelling at the softness of it, ---its fragility. Draco isn’t untouchable; he’s vulnerable, human, just like Harry. He doesn’t try to hide anything. Draco seems to embrace his fragility, while Harry does his best to lock his away. Draco isn’t like Harry. He’s stronger. Better perhaps. He doesn’t need the drugs like Harry does.

‘Well, bully for him,’ Harry murmurs softly. He strokes Draco’s hair one last time, and then he reaches into his bag and pops an _Icarus_ tablet into his mouth.

Draco’s eyes begin to flutter open just as Harry swallows it down. 

Draco rolls over and presses his face into the mattress, gripping the sheets with his fingertips. ‘Fuck,’ he murmurs weakly.

He says something, but his voice is muffled. Harry reaches out a tentative hand, hovering above Draco’s back for a few seconds before he allows it to drop onto his shirt.

‘All right there?’

Draco groans again and lifts his head. ‘No,’ he says faintly. ‘There’s a headache potion in the pantry. Blue flask. Hurry.’

Alarmed, Harry bounds of the bed, almost tripping in the race towards the pantry. He finds the blue flask with the tiny label and rushes back with it, kneeling at the side of the bed. Draco looks up at him blearily and then lifts his head with what looks like a supreme amount of effort. ‘Harry, I hate to ask—’

Harry wordlessly lifts the flask to Draco’s’ lips and tips it back. He swallows it all and then pulls his head away. Harry wipes off the dark blue drops trailing from his lips and Draco gives him a baleful look.

‘This is mortifying,’ he says, voice hoarse.

‘Welcome to my life,’ Harry says drily.

Draco turns himself over slowly, lying flat on his back with his fingers splayed out across his stomach. When he takes a deep breath, Harry begins to relax. The potion must be working if he could do that without wincing.

Harry crawls over Draco’s body and lies down in the space next to him, propped up on his arm. Draco opens his eyes again and smiles weakly. 

‘I’m all right.’

‘Good.’

‘Is that what happens every time?’

‘Yes. Mostly,’ he says. ‘When I’m with you it’s --easier.’

Draco lifts his hand and caresses Harry’s face with his fingers. ‘Amanda’s guide. She’s your mother.’

Harry tries his best not to pull away from the tenderness in Draco’s gaze or the way his fingertips feel against his cheek.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

Draco drops his hand from Harry’s face and pushes himself up on his elbows. ‘You used, didn’t you?’

Harry sits up, moving away from Draco’s spot in the bed. ‘Yes, of course I fucking _used_. You expect me to just stop?’

Draco rubs his temple and sits up as well, turning to him. ‘No, I don’t,’ he says. ‘I’m just hoping you’ll try.’ He rests his hand on Harry’s thigh. ‘Let’s talk about that later. For now, just show me what she showed you, so I can give our report and we’ll have done our jobs.’

Harry hesitates, worried about what else Draco might find in his mind. There are so many more things now that Harry doesn’t want him to see.

Draco gives him a look. ‘Harry, if I haven’t managed to convince you by now that I never go searching through your mind for your secrets, let me reiterate. I’m your Contact because I’m good at what I do. And I know where to go to find what I need. I’m not going to see anything you don’t want me to.’

Harry forces out a deep breath and rests his hands resolutely into Draco’s palms.

Draco rubs his thumbs along the back of his palms. ‘Now relax,’ he says. ‘And let me in.’

Draco slips past his mental barriers easily, and Harry shows him exactly what Amanda experienced.

_Harry, was she certain it was the Killing Curse?_

_Yes. So am I. I know what it looks like._

_I think I know what it is. It doesn’t make the case any easier, but we might be able to clear Flint._

_What do you think happened?_

_The jewel? It was a trap. I’ve seen it before. They call it the Hunter’s Net. Poachers use it to capture and kill magical beasts and animals. Animals protected by Wizarding law._

_But that’s--- they leave those things out for_ anyone _to run into? Even a child? That’s—_

_Completely illegal, but they’ve been using these methods for Centuries. I bet you anything, if the Aurors turned their sights to the Knockturn Alley poachers, we’ll find our man. Maybe this might make some of the members of the Wizengamot do something useful for once, instead of sitting on their collective arses._

_So Flint was innocent all along--are you relieved?_

_Yes, Harry, I am. If he was guilty—well let’s just say it would have made my life a lot more difficult. Much as you think I have it easy—_

_Hush. I’m sorry I said that._

Draco slips gently out of his mind and Harry opens his eyes. He’s almost startled by the how close Draco’s face is and how very bright his eyes really are. Pale, but luminous.

‘Do you have to go make your report now?’ Harry asks softly, secretly hoping Draco will say no.

Draco shakes his head. ‘It’s probably just after three in the morning. No one will be there anyway.’

Harry nods solemnly. They both know this isn’t true. Robards almost never goes home, and there was always someone in the Unspeakable department.

Harry leans forward first and Draco eagerly responds, kissing him back and pushing his fingertips beneath Harry’s shirt. Draco traces the shape of Harry’s abs with his fingertips, then snakes his way up to his nipples and flicking the swollen nub with his thumbnail. Harry shivers and pulls Draco closer, gripping the back of his head. Draco pushes forward, knocking Harry flat on the bed and lowering his hips. Harry’s legs fall apart and Draco fits himself neatly into the space between them. Draco braces himself with his palms flat against either side of Harry’s head.

‘Do that thing again.’

‘What thing?’ Harry asks, slipping his hand under Draco’s soft cotton trousers and squeezing his arse cheek.

‘Clothes,’ Draco says breathlessly. ‘Clothes.’

Harry grins and Vanishes their clothes, groaning out loud when Malfoy’s leaking cock presses against Harry’s belly. Draco reaches behind and grabs Harry’s cock, pressing it against his hole and sinking down slowly. Harry grips Draco’s hips hard, making an undignified sound he’s sure he’d be embarrassed about if he gave a shit. Draco’s eyes flutter shut as he rests his arse flat on Harry’s groin.

‘Oh god, Jesus,’ Harry babbles. ‘I just fucked you. How are you so tight? Nghh’

Draco grins and leans forward, his hair brushing Harry’s cheeks. ‘I’m amazing, didn’t you know?’

Harry grins and pulls him forward, kissing him possessively and arching his hips. ‘Ride me.’

Draco lifts up and slides back down once, and Harry’s afraid he’s going to come too quickly -as though he’s fifteen again. Draco starts riding him in earnest, rotating his hips in an almost feminine way, but still hard and rough and hot and just the way Harry likes it. Draco’s eyes are closed, eyelids fluttering, mouth slightly open. He presses his hands flat against Harry’s chest, and Harry loves the feeling --loves that Draco’s weight presses against him so possessively.

Harry grips Draco’s arse cheeks hard. ‘Yeah, fuck. Do it.’

Draco’s eyes flutter open and he smiles, and Harry’s floored by the beauty of it, the complete sincerity in the expression, the way the skin on Draco’s nose wrinkles when he smiles like that, and the few freckles on Draco’s neck that Harry’s quite certain he’s never noticed before.

He reaches between them and starts stroking Draco’s cock, and Draco releases a stuttered moan. ‘ _Yes...._ ’ he murmurs, dragging out the end of the word into a hiss.

Draco drops his arse down flat on Harry’s hips again and begins to roll his hips, and Harry’s vaguely certain his eyes roll back into his head. ‘Fuck, Malfoy.’

Draco abruptly stills and Harry’s eyes fly open as his cock spasms in Draco’s arse. He grips Draco’s hips again. ‘What-? What? Why are you stopping?’

‘Can’t you call me Draco?’

‘Draco, Draco, Draco. Oh fuck, _come on_. Don’t stop. I’ll call you whatever you want. You can call _me_ whatever you want. I don’t care.

Draco rolls his hips and Harry inhales sharply. ‘What like Scarhead? Potty? Can I call you that?’

‘Well --that would be...annoying but Jesus, Draco can we talk about this when I’m not completely buried in your arse?’

He rolls his hips again and lifts his arse up and drops back down. Harry whimpers, shutting his eyes and seriously contemplates begging Draco to fuck him properly.

Draco leans forward and nips his lower lip and Harry opens his eyes again, gripping Draco’s hips for dear life.

‘Don’t call me Malfoy.’

Harry nods quickly. ‘Okay, okay. Just don’t stop. Don’t stop.’

Draco looks down at him and grins wickedly. ‘Look at you,’ he whispers. ‘So fucking hot. You’re gorgeous, Harry.’

Rubbish, of course, but Harry appreciates the compliment nonetheless.

Draco lifts his arse and sinks back down slowly, and Harry forgets all rational thought, he may very well be close to insanity. He’s just on the brink of orgasm and Malfoy— _Draco_ is torturing him, taking him just to the brink and then stopping all together.

Draco licks the underside of Harry’s jaw. ‘So fucking gorgeous, look how much you want it.’

‘I do. I do. Come on, fuck me already.’

‘You want to try it the other way round?’Draco murmurs against his skin.

‘Yes, _yes_. Fuck me. I want it.’

Draco lifts his arse and Harry’s cock slips out of his body. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, do it.’

Draco grabs his leaking cock and spreads some of his come around Harry’s hole, then easily slips one finger inside and then another, scissoring his fingers and brushing against Harry’s prostate almost every other second. Harry grips the sheets in his fingers and spreads his legs wantonly. ‘Do it, Draco, now.’

Draco fists his cock once and then pushes into Harry in one quick, deep stroke. Harry comes so hard his hips twitch and come lands high up on his chest. Draco leans forward and hovers over him, grinning wickedly. Harry’s body spasms again as his cock pulses another pearl of come from his slit.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Draco whispers. 

Harry laughs weakly and wraps his arms around Draco’s neck. He’s used up, and so freaking relaxed and happy, he could float away. He grips Draco’s hair and says, ‘Shut up and fuck me,’ in a low, gravelly voice.

Draco snaps his hips and starts fucking him in slow, deep strokes, breathing shallow breaths, his eyes shut tight. When he comes, he groans low in his chest, and Harry loves the vibrations it sends through his body. Draco falls on top of him and Harry turns slightly so Draco can slip onto the mattress, wincing as Draco’s cock slides out of his body.

Without opening his eyes, Draco hooks his leg across Harry’s and pulls their bodies closer together. Harry reaches forward and pushes the damp strands of Draco’s hair off his forehead. Draco opens his eyes and smiles.

‘Why don’t you use some of that magic of yours and clean us up a bit?’

Harry shifts even closer and complies, and the cleaning charm rustles over them like a warm wind.

‘So sexy,’ Draco murmurs.

Harry grins, pleased. He reaches across and pulls Draco’s back into his chest. Draco makes a soft, contented sound and Harry’s already being pulled under by sleep.

‘Of course, you would be a cuddler,’ Draco says wryly.

Harry bites Draco’s earlobe and then licks it with the tip of his tongue. ‘Shut up,’ he says. ‘You love it.’ 

There’s a stretch of silence in which Draco doesn’t answer, and Harry begins to drift contentedly into sleep.

Just before he slips into dreams, Draco sighs and says, ‘Yes. I do.’

In the morning, he wakes before Draco and then casts a light sleeping charm to keep it that way. He gently pulls his arm -now completely numb- from beneath Draco’s body and then lies there, staring up at the ceiling. A headache starts to form in the space between his eyes, and he desperately want to take a few Icarus tablets just to get his head right. After what Draco said—he must have interpreted it wrong. He fucked up relationships with crossed wires and miscommunication all the time. He was hardly ever right about anything when it came to other people, so chances are; in this case he’s completely wrong, right?

Draco didn’t say he loved him last night, did he? That would be crazy. Completely uncalled for. They’d only been working together for what--3 years? He supposes it’s enough time for someone to fall in love but not someone like Draco. He looks down at Draco’s sleeping form. There’s a faint scar on his chin. He sleeps with his palms clenched into fists. Like Harry, he’s completely starkers under the covers and just beginning to show the promise of a morning stiffy. Harry looks away, flinging off his covers and swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

He reaches into his bag, grabs the small glass bottle and drops two tablets into his palm. He hesitates for only a second before popping them both into his mouth. They burst onto his tongue and he closes his eyes briefly. He glances at Draco’s sleeping form and then rests his face in his palms.

Guilt.

This isn’t a new emotion for him, but knowing that Draco expects him to try to stop is a different type of guilt all together. He knows that this thing -whatever they’re doing- won’t even start if he keeps using. His trip on the plane last night was better, less painful because Draco was there. It’s not hard to admit that he wants Draco there. He _wants_ to try his hand at some kind of normal relationship. But he’s not sure he’s ready to just quit. Just the thought actually makes him a little bit –hysterical.

Draco stirs and Harry almost jumps out of his skin. He stands up quickly and Summons a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, yanking the shirt over his head and shoving his feet into each trouser leg. He dumps all his things into his bag, hooks it over his shoulder and then looks down at Draco’s sleeping form again. He wants to do something. He wants to touch him or kiss him on the forehead, but he can’t bring himself to. His heart is hammering, and

–he’s scared.

Fuck. He’s not been this scared since Voldemort, and the drugs aren’t helping at all. All of his confusion centres on Draco, and he has an overwhelming desire to just be _away_ from him and forget last night’s colossally bad idea entirely.

But then --was it really so bad that he loved it so much? Not just the sex, but Draco himself. The way Draco looks at him and the way Draco’s skin feels against his.

His heart is thumping hard in his chest, and his palms are beginning to sweat. The panic wells in his stomach and then Draco’s eyes flutter open and a slow smile starts to spread across his face.

Harry Apparates to his flat before he says anything stupid.

Harry lands in his room and staggers forward a few seconds before he notices the faint voices coming from in his living room.

‘—told you, Ron, I’ve been trying to call him since yesterday. Will you please just look around again and maybe see if you find some sort of clue where he went off to? I’m worried.’

‘Ok! Alright, Hermione, just go lie down or something, you look awful.’

‘ _Thank you_ — Ron.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

Hermione doesn’t answer and Harry hears the Floo close.

He drops his bag and steps quietly out into the hallway. When enters the living room, Ron is standing with his back to Harry, hands on his hips.

Harry clears his throat softly and Ron whips around to look at him.

‘Looking for me?’

‘Where the fuck have you been?’

Harry closes his eyes briefly. He’d forgotten to make up some kind of story about his disappearance this weekend to Hermione, and then when she called... he didn’t answer. Shit. He’s forgotten a lot of basic things recently, like making up stories so his friends don’t wonder about his disappearance every time he has to spend time in The Facility. He rubs his eyes beneath his glasses, hearing Draco’s voice in his head saying _‘It’s the drugs Harry, you need to stop,’_ again and again.

‘I’m sorry, Ron. I was away. Work thing.’

Ron narrows his eyes and walks across the room, stopping just in front of Harry and lifting his chin roughly. ‘Bullshit, Harry. You’re strung out.’

Harry sighs. There’s no use trying to pretend with Ron. ‘I know. But I’m not lying to you; I really was away for work.’

Ron droops his hand and shifts his stance, his frown furrowed, obviously not believing a word of it. Harry scratches the stubble on his chin and folds his arms across his chest. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Ron.’

‘All right, Harry. Ok. I believe you.’

Harry sighs and relaxes his shoulders. He tries to walk past, but Ron side steps into his path.

‘I said I believe you about work, Harry, but I still think you’re not telling me the whole truth. Hermione’s worried about you because you came to her party out of your fucking mind. Did you think that no one would notice? What the fuck were you thinking?’

‘I wasn’t thinking anything.’

‘Clearly,’ Ron glares down at him and then he sighs softly. ‘She’s really upset, Harry. _And_ she’s pregnant. I might not know that much about girls’ bits, I know she shouldn’t be this upset right now. Why couldn’t you just answer her call?’

‘I was busy.’

‘You were high. On the job, I might add. Does Draco know?’

Harry bristles and pushes past Ron, into the kitchen heading straight to the fridge for a beer. ‘Yes, he fucking knows. He’s not my boss, Ron.’

Ron follows him closely behind and presses his palm flat on the refrigerator door.

Harry yanks on the door handle and Ron shoves the door closed again. ‘What the fuck, Ron?’

‘No, Harry. I’m not letting you go into that fridge and drink a beer at 10 o’clock in the morning. I’m not going to just sit back and watch you ruin your life.’

Harry sidesteps him and backs away into the kitchen counter, his hands shaking slightly and his heart pounding in his chest. ‘That’s a little dramatic isn’t it, Ron?’ he says, faintly. He’s not sure he’s up to this confrontation after narrowly avoiding another one this morning. _This_ is the reason he left --the reason he doesn’t do relationships anymore. People are too volatile, too emotional. It takes too much effort for him to take part in a single conversation. Everything is exhausting. He needs more _Icarus_ or a drink or _something_ to help him deal with the conversation.

_What the fuck is happening to you?_

‘I don’t know!’

A brief, miserable silence echoes through the room.

‘What did you say, Harry?’

Harry throws his hands in the air, exasperated. ‘I said, I don’t know, Ron. I don’t know what’s happening.’

Ron’s shakes his head in confusion and he steps closer to Harry. ‘Harry,’ he begins tentatively. ‘I didn’t say that out loud.’

Harry’s stomach turns to ice, and he looks up at Ron, his best friend, who’s now looking at him with wide eyes and a furrowed brow and --yes there. Harry feels it as though it is his own. A sharp twinge of fear.

‘How did you do that?’

Harry sighs and turns his back to Ron, opening his pantry door and looking for the jar he stashed a few cigarettes in just after he kicked the habit. He grabs one from the jar and lights it with a spell, taking a few calming drags before he turns to face Ron again.

‘It’s a long story, Ron,’ he says softly.

‘Start at the beginning.’

So Harry does. He tells Ron about his Sight and its first manifestation during Auror training. He tells Ron that it was the reason he’d been assigned to the Unspeakables, and that Malfoy is his partner. He explains, leaving out the more recent intimate details, that he and Malfoy are magically compatible and that Harry works with him to help keep his sanity, while he works on Ministry cases by speaking to the dead.

‘Can you hear everything I’m thinking? All the time?’

‘No,’ Harry says. ‘Just when it’s particularly strong or when--’ Harry looks up with a faint smile, ‘When you think about Blaise.’

The colour drains from Ron’s face and he absently touches at a faded red mark on his neck.

‘I suppose you know all about what happened last night then?’

Harry shakes his head and takes another drag on his cigarette. ‘No, Ron, I don’t. Please, don’t start dwelling on it now, because I really don’t want to know. Not that I’m surprised or anything.’

Ron smiles faintly. ‘Shut up.’

Harry taps off some of the ash from his fag. ‘It’s why I started using. I just needed something to dampen it all, you know? All the noise in my head --it’s too much.’

Ron leans back against the fridge and folds his arms across his chest. ‘There are other Seers in the world who aren’t drug addicts, Harry.’

‘I know. I’ve been—stupid. There are other ways; I just never took the time to learn them.’

‘Maybe Hermione could help,’ Ron says reasonably. ‘If you actually told her.’

‘It’s part of my job to keep it a secret.’

‘I doubt the Ministry would implode if you told your best mates you have the Sight, Harry.’

‘I know. I’ve done a lot of stupid things, Ron, but I want to stop. I want to get better.’

Ron rubs his chin and then pushes himself off the fridge door. ‘Have you ever seen Fred?’ he asks, with a sort of studied nonchalance that makes Harry’s heart ache.

He straightens up and swallows the lump in his throat. ‘No, I haven’t, Ron. He’ll have gone on.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know.’

Ron looks away, and Harry’s certain he does so to hide his thoughts from Harry’s invasive mind.

‘You’re afraid,’ he says.

Ron doesn’t look at him. ‘How do you know that?’

Harry exhales a line of smoke, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. ‘I can feel it.’

Ron sighs softly, and then finally turns to face him. ‘Ok, so maybe I am. A little bit. It’s not every day a bloke learns his best friend can read his mind and talk to the dead. It doesn’t mean I’m afraid of _you_.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ Harry says lightly.

‘Harry, you always assume the worst. I’m not--’ Ron stops, apparently searching for words. ‘I’m not like your relatives, all right? I’m not afraid of you. I’m your best mate.’

Harry takes another shaky drag of his fag, ashamed of the lump growing in his throat. He looks down at the worktop, absently tracing his fingertips across the smooth granite. ‘Are you,’ he says softly, ‘still?’

Ron looks at him for a long moment, and Harry starts to deflate under his glare.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

The statement is so _Ron_ that it startles a laugh out of Harry, so full and deep that it rumbles in his chest.

Ron swiftly closes the space between then and holds Harry’s face in his palms, lifting Harry’s chin. ‘What goes on in that daft head of yours, huh?’

Harry shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’

Ron drops his hands to Harry’s shoulders and gives him a small shake. ‘You know, sometimes I just want to smack some sense into you,’ he says. ‘But I don’t think even that would work.’

Harry laughs again, almost afraid to look into Ron’s eyes again.

‘Look, I know blokes don’t say this, but I love you, Harry. You’re my best mate, and nothing’s going to change that.’

Harry grips Ron’s forearms and nods. Then he smiles. ‘Even if I fucked Malfoy?’

Ron’s eyes brow lifts almost into his hairline. ‘Harry, mate, that’s been a long time coming.’

‘Sure you’re not the Seer?’

Ron grins. ‘We actually have a pool going. If you’d waited just another two weeks, I’d be 10 galleons richer right now.’

Harry rubs his face with his palms and laughs weakly. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Harry, Malfoy’s been wanting in your pants for a while now,’ he says. ‘He ah, actually asked me about you a few times, to be honest.’

Harry lifts his eyebrows. ‘What did he say?’

Ron steps away, opening his fridge door and taking out all the bottles of beer one by one, resting them on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

‘He asked me if I thought you were seeing anyone, and if he thought you might give it a go. Granted he was completely bladdered at the time, and I sort of prodded him into admitting he was barmy for you.’

Harry’s mouth drops open in surprise. ‘Barmy?’ he says faintly.

Ron looks up briefly. ‘Yes, completely barmy, Harry. Didn’t you say you fucked him?’

‘I did. I just—maybe might have fucked things up a little.’

Ron straightens up and gives him a look. ‘Harry, look, I know he’s still Malfoy. He’s still a git sometimes, but he’s a good bloke, you know. And he really cares for you. I don’t want to say anything more, I mean, he told me if I ever told you he’d hex my balls. But if you think you fucked it up, I suggest you fix it. He might pretend to be all stiff and stoic like his father on the outside, but really Harry, he’s just as fucked up as you are.’

‘I don’t know whether to feel insulted or not, Ron, but thanks for the advice.’

‘No problem.’

‘Now are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re doing with my beer?’

Ron closes the fridge and looks at him seriously. ‘This,’ he says, and then vanishes it all with his wand.

‘Ron!’

‘You said you want to get clean, didn’t you? That means everything, Harry. Either you give the drugs or I go search for it, because we can do that, too.’

Harry watches him gobsmacked. ‘Ron. That’s too fast. I can’t just do everything today—‘

‘You can, and you are, Harry. I know you. You’ll keep putting it off until you kill yourself with it, and I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘I can just get more, if I want, Ron.’

‘Harry, if you do that, we’re finished.’

Harry’s stomach flops so hard he has to grip the worktop for balance. ‘You just said I was your best mate!’

‘You are, Harry. And you always will be. But if you keep using, I’m out of your life. That’s it.’

Harry stubs out his cigarette and turns his back to Ron, hunching over the counter top and taking a few deep breaths. He presses his palms flat against the worktop, trying to control the confusing ball of emotions rolling around in his stomach. On the one hand, he’s so happy, so grateful that he actually has the friendship he thought he’d lost. The friendship he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve. But on the other hand, he resents it. It’s a little too much too soon. It isn’t fair. And it makes him angry. Why does Ron need to have it all at once-? ‘Why can’t we do it bit by bit?’ Harry asks without turning around.

When he finally turns around, Ron is already beside him, looking down at him with a hard look.

‘All or nothing, Harry. You’re not going to manipulate me.’

‘I’m not trying to manipulate you! You just don’t understand. I can’t do it all at once, I need...time.’

‘No, you need drugs. I’m not going to give you any more drugs, Harry.’

Harry straightens up, wiping the useless tears from his cheeks with the back of his palm. ‘Not even Malfoy was this cruel.’

Ron raises an eyebrow. ‘Draco’s in love with you, Harry. He lets you get away with shit you shouldn’t. He’s also insecure about the way you feel about him. I’m not. I know what we mean to each other. I’m not going to tiptoe around you and let you do this on your terms. You’re an addict, Harry. And I want to help you.’

Harry winces, because the word _addict_ strikes straight at his stomach. It _hurts_ almost as much as his scar did all those years ago. He tries to find something in himself that would let him deny it, but there’s nothing. Ron’s absolutely right, he knows that. But to give up the last few shreds of control he has in his life might be too much too soon. He’ll flounder and drown. Then there’s the withdrawal, and the utter humiliation of throwing up for hours.

And then there’s the other thing --Malfoy’s in love with him? Is that really what those looks were all about? Even with him being at his lowest, someone had found a way to love him -Harry- an addict? Butterflies flutter in the pit of his stomach. He’s not sure if he can trust this, but, if he could maybe fix things with Malf—with Draco, maybe it might make all of this worth it. He can’t pretend he doesn’t want it any longer. He does want it, more than he wants to keep using. More that he wants all the _Icarus_ in the world.

That’s what scares him the most.

He pushes his hair off his forehead and takes another deep breath. ‘There are two bottles in my bag. Another two in the shelf in the bathroom. A stash beneath the floorboards under the rug in my living room, and –another in my wardrobe, behind the shrunken Hogwarts chest.’

Ron immediately leaves to gather his stash, and –probably, banish the whole lot. It feels a little like when the Dursley’s took his Hogwarts acceptance letter away, even though he knows the comparison is unfair.

Harry stares out his window at the mid-morning sun almost at its apex and reaches into the jar of cigarettes again. He pulls one out, lighting it with an absent thought, and sucks on it deeply. His head is already crawling its way into a dull throb, and his fingers ache to close around the familiar glass bottle of purple tablets. In a few hours, his feelings will change from a vague pulsing desire to a desperate, wrenching need, and it isn’t something he wants to go through alone. But he walked out on the only person he wants to help him through this, and he’s not sure how bad he’s fucked things up or what Draco must think of him right now.

He starts when Ron comes up behind him, and Ron raises his palms apologetically. ‘Sorry, mate.’

‘It’s all right.’

Ron leans against the counter, studying him lightly. ‘I don’t want to leave you alone right now,’ he says. ‘I’m supposed to meet Hermione at her place for lunch. Will you come?’

Harry stubs out his cigarette on the worktop. ‘I—I might not be the best of company in a few hours,’ he says.

‘That’s all right,’ Ron says. ‘You haven’t been the best of company for a few years now.’ The wink he gives takes the sting out of his words, and Harry rolls his eyes and summons a coat.

Hermione doesn’t waste any time in researching ways to help Harry with his Sight, after, of course, a lengthy apology and explanation for his disappearance. He sits with her and Ron in Hermione’s small parlour, watching them eat, because the thought of food is already particularly nauseating. By evening time though, the symptoms of his withdrawal start creeping up on him at odd moments, and he supposes it’s really much better that he’s surrounded by friends. He’s been growing increasingly agitated over the last few hours and his skin is starting to feel hot and clammy. If he were on his own, he’d already be back at Knockturn Alley, in the dingy Potions apothecary, refilling his stash.

There’s a brief turn in the conversation when Hermione asks about Draco, and after telling her the barest minimum of their brief encounter, Harry deflects by bringing up Blaise and Ron, watching with vague amusement as Ron splutters under Hermione’s scrutiny. Ron, however insists it’s only sex, but the way he caresses the love bite on his neck tells Harry otherwise, if he didn’t already have the Sight to call Ron out on his bullshit. Then Hermione proceeds to give Ron a small lecture -which Harry secretly thinks is more for his benefit- about accepting happiness wherever it comes.

_Happiness._

He used to think that’s what he felt every time the he got high, but when he compares it to the flutters in his chest when he thinks about Draco, it doesn’t even come close. Not by a long shot.

He doesn’t realise he’s been furiously shaking his thigh until Hermione lays a gentle hand on his knee. ‘Harry, I don’t think you should be alone tonight,’ she says.

Harry sits up straighter in his chair, looking between her and Ron. ‘I don’t want to intrude here, and I definitely don’t want to intrude on Ron and Blaise.’

Ron’s ears turn red. ‘Blaise and I don’t live together!’

Hermione spares her ex a brief glance, and then turns to focus again on Harry. ‘That’s not exactly what I meant,’ she says. ‘I think you should be with a Healer.’

Harry sighs. ‘You’re about to suggest Draco, aren’t you?’

‘Not suggesting it, no. I’ve already owled him.’

‘Of course you did,’ Harry says, sighing.

‘Well, you can’t avoid him forever, Harry.’

‘I know that. ’

‘Good then,’ she says briskly. ‘I asked him to come here, but he said he didn’t want to ambush you. He says he’ll wait for you at your place, just in case you’d want him to leave.’ She gives Harry a look that says, ‘S _ee what being a complete prat does to people who care about you!’_ and Harry ducks his head, sufficiently cowed.

‘Did he really say that?’

‘Yes, he did. For some reason he thinks you have no interest in seeing him.’

Harry looks away, and Ron says, ‘Wonder where he got that idea,’ in a mock whisper.

‘Ok, ok. I get it,’ Harry says, pressing his fingers to his skull. Merlin, but his head aches.

‘I’d better go then,’ he says. ‘If he can give me something for this headache, I’ll be a happy man.’

‘Oh, I bet he could give you something all right,’ Ron says, leaning back in his chair and leering at him.

‘Ron please, must you be so crude. And stop destroying my furniture, you beast,’ Hermione says, her mouth twitching with amusement.

‘I’ll just go then, shall I? Harry says, standing up slowly.

Hermione stands too, and gives him a quick hug. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Hermione, no,’ Ron says, standing up as well. It all feels rather formal, and Harry fights down the very inappropriate urge to giggle at his strange, but well-meaning friends. ‘It’s going to be awkward enough without you there to witness it.’

Harry sends Ron a grateful look and Ron winks at him. He pulls Harry into a tight, rare hug, patting his back. ‘I’m proud of you, Harry,’ he says softly, and when they pull away, his eyes are bright.

Harry decides to take the Floo; he’s pretty certain apparition will make him vomit.

He takes a pinch of Floo powder and stands in front of Hermione’s fireplace, shifting from foot to foot, contemplating not going at all.

Hermione calls his name softly and he turns to look at her, hand still poised over the grate. ‘Up Gryffindor,’ she says with a wry smile. He smiles back at her warmly, and takes the Floo back home.

Draco doesn’t allow him to speak first when Harry finds him in his living room, sitting straight-backed on Harry’s couch. He gestures for Harry to sit beside him, and Harry does, leaving an appropriate amount of space between them so that he doesn’t immediately feel tempted to reach out and touch him. As it is, he’s tempted anyway when he catches a whiff of Draco’s scent, the lavender and sandalwood, smelling even more strongly now that Harry’s senses are no longer bogged down by _Icarus_. His fingers twitch on his thigh, anxious to be on Draco’s soft skin again.

‘I gave in our report,’ Draco says.

Harry looks over at him, where he’s sitting so carefully and tucked away, in a white shirt and wool trousers, but curiously dishevelled with his sleeves unbuttoned and his hair falling all over the place, as though he’d been running his fingers through it all day.

‘All right,’ Harry says slowly. ‘Is this what we’re talking about?’

‘For now,’ Draco says. ‘The evidence was enough to drop all charges against Flint.’

Harry nods. ‘Good, I’m glad.’

‘He wants to thank you personally, but I told him that won’t be possible for a while. Maybe you can owl him when all this is over.’

‘This?’

Draco gives him a look, and then continues. ‘We have a new case, but I passed on it. I told Samuel he’ll have to take it for now, since you won’t be safe to travel for a while.’

‘Did you tell him why?’

‘Of course not, Harry,’ Draco says, exasperated. ‘He figured it out himself. He says he’s happy for you, and he’ll come see you in a few days. When the worst is over.’

Harry rubs his temples. ‘The worst has already started, I think.’

‘Hardly.’

Harry looks up and licks his lips slowly. If Draco could just give him a little bit to work with –

Draco turns and reaches at the side of the sofa, pulling a small pouch from his robes and rests on the sofa in the space between them. ‘Pay attention,’ he says, ‘Because I’ll only show you this once.’

_‘_ Okay. _.?’_

He pulls out four stoppered vials, and they clink and rattle in his fist. ‘This one,’ he says, gesturing with the red vial, ‘is for the headaches, which I’m sure have already started. It's non-habit forming and pretty mild, so don’t overdose with it, because I can’t give you anything stronger.’

Harry watches uncomprehendingly, and Draco rests the vial in his palm.

‘This blue one is for nausea—’

‘Wait, Draco, stop. Why are you telling me all this? Aren’t you staying?’

Draco shifts away from Harry slightly. ‘Do you want me to?’ he asks, not lifting his gaze from the vials in his fist.

Harry gently takes them all and rests them on the space next to him, pushing them to the back of the couch so they don’t fall and break. He moves closer to Draco and reaches out tentatively to touch his face. Draco’s Adam’s apple bobs slightly as he swallows, and his eyes flicker to Harry’s lips. Harry leans forward and kisses him softly, chastely, and then he pulls away.

‘I want you to stay,’ he says.

Draco looks at him for a moment, before he leans forward and kisses Harry again, this time threading his fingers through Harry’s hair and letting his tongue slide in between Harry’s lips. When he pulls away, he looks at Harry with a confused expression. ‘You are the biggest conundrum, Harry Potter,’ he says lightly.

‘I know. I’m the worst,’ Harry agrees.

‘I thought—’ he starts, and then stops himself. He looks up at Harry, eyes wide and uncertain. ‘Harry, did you fuck me because you were high?’

Harry can’t stop the small, surprised laugh that escapes from his lips. ‘Is that what you thought?’

Draco pulls away, scowling, and Harry grabs his wrist, stopping him from pulling away completely.

‘What the fuck was I supposed to think, Harry? You fuck me, twice, and then in the morning, you can’t even stick around to look at me? You looked absolutely horrified.’ Draco blinks and looks away. ‘It was just like the last time.’

Harry’s stomach drops. He reaches out and touches Draco’s chin softly, and he reluctantly turns and looks Harry in the eye. ‘I’m sorry.’ Harry says. ‘I didn’t mean to make you think--’

Draco narrows his eyes, and pulls away. ‘Didn’t mean to make me think what? That you were going to pretend to forget everything again?’

‘I wasn’t pretending the first time!’

‘Which proves my point, don’t you think?’

‘What point?’

‘That we only fuck around when you’re not...mentally competent.’

‘Draco, you’re being ridiculous.’

Draco yanks his hand away. ‘Don’t tell me I’m being ridiculous, Harry. You confuse the _shit_ out of me.’

‘I don’t mean to. Draco, I fucked you because I wanted to, okay? Not because I was high, or mentally incompetent, or whatever else you've come up with. I wanted to fuck you because I like you. A lot.’

Draco looks up at him, frown between his brows. ‘I like you, too.’

Harry bumps Draco’s knee with his own. ‘Bit more than like, from what I hear.’

Draco’s cheeks turn pink. ‘Remind me to kill Weasley when next I see him,’ he says softly.

Harry grins and leans in to kiss Draco briefly again. ‘I’m sorry I’m such a daft, confusing, irritating sod,’ he says against Draco’s lips.

Draco sighs softly. ‘Acceptance is the first key,’ he says, pulling away. ‘I’m proud of what you’re doing, Harry.’

As though to remind him of what he’s doing, his stomach decides to make its displeasure known.

‘I don’t know if you’re going to be so proud in a few hours, Draco,’ Harry says. He closes his eyes briefly and presses his hand against his stomach.

Draco gently takes his hand and links their fingers together, and then he takes his other hand and wipes a bit of sweat from Harry’s brow.

‘How about this,’ he says softly. ‘I’ll continue to be proud, if you promise to keep fighting.’

Harry opens his eyes and brings Draco’s fingers to his lips.

‘I promise.’

_fin_

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